


The Darling Affair

by Ice_Cube44



Series: The Darling Affair [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Captain Swan Big Bang, Ex-Military Killian, F/M, Social Worker Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 90,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Cube44/pseuds/Ice_Cube44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ex-military officer Killian Jones has never forgiven the Gold family for what they took from him. But when his path searching for justice (and maybe revenge) leads him straight to Emma Swan, a social worker who’s young charge has just been kidnapped by Malcolm Gold, he might just learn to let go of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mission: Success

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited (and more than a little nervous) to finally be posting this! Once upon a time, I thought this was going to struggle to get to 20K... apparently I underestimated the plot a bit...  
> So here’s the first chapter of my submission for the @captainswanbigbang Big Bang Challenge. Take it away, It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> We’ll meet Emma in the next chapter, but for now, enjoy meeting Killian and Liam Jones.

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

The sharp, fiery pain that erupted between his shoulder blades caught Killian by surprise and almost – _almost_ – had him gasping in pain.  Quickly, he bit back the instinctual response and sucked air in through his nose to quell the instinct to flee.  Outwardly, it looked as if he barely reacted to the blow, absorbing the force and immediately sitting up straight again as if it were nothing.  A muscle in his cheek twitched due to his clenched jaw, but otherwise, there was no movement.  Killian may have wanted nothing more than to curl away from the pain, but that didn’t matter.  His body may have been telling him to get up from his chair and pace until the sharp sting of half-healed wounds faded back to a dull roar, but he fought the urge.  He may have wanted nothing more than to rail at the man who had caused him to hurt in the first place, but that man was far away and rotting in prison by now.  It had been a very long time since he’d been so undisciplined as to let such signs of weakness show when he was at the office.  

Even to Liam.  

 _Especially_ to Liam.  

Killian continued to stare straight ahead and waited patiently.

* * *

“Cheers, little brother.  Another one in the books.” Captain Liam Jones surreptitiously left his hand where it had landed when he’d slapped his brother’s back in congratulations at another successful mission.  The medical report in Liam’s hand informed him that there were no major issues and his little brother - the bruised and battered lieutenant commander sitting in front of him - could be cleared for full duty as early as next week.  But his brother had fooled their medics before.  Killian may think he was an expert at masking himself, and maybe he was, to someone who didn’t know him so well – to someone who hadn’t practically raised him – but the minute tremors that wracked the younger man’s frame painted a clear picture.  His brother was hurting, maybe even seriously injured, and was trying desperately to hide it from Liam.  When Killian didn’t bite out a pithy “younger brother” half under his breath while glaring, Liam paused in carefully concealed alarm.  Just how badly had his brother managed to hurt himself this time?

Not for the first time Liam wondered if he had, in fact, trained his brother too well in their chosen trade.  He was positive that it hadn’t been all that long ago that Killian was just a scrawny, scabby-kneed youth who couldn’t fall asleep without leaving the light on in their closet all night.  Liam had always taken his big brother responsibilities seriously – from the day he had first cradled his infant brother against his chest with wide eyes and shaking hands – and Killian as a child had jumped willingly into the role of little brother.  It had worked for both of them, then.  But then Liam had blinked and that child had grown into a man who could be hiding anything from open wounds to broken bones to internal injuries.  In the past, it had been a combination of all three at once that Liam had to turn a blind eye to in order to ensure the success of the mission.  There was a fine line between protective older brother and demanding commanding officer, and it wasn’t a line that Liam ever enjoyed toeing.

Sighing, Liam left his brother’s side and paced around his desk so that he could sit and face his subordinate, the change in position subconsciously changing their roles from familial to professional.  Truly open concern for whatever injuries Killian was hiding would have to wait until they were home and he could properly force rest, a shower, food, and first aid on his brother.  And probably in that order if the younger man had anything to say about it.  

They had both inherited the Jones’ family stubbornness, but Killian, it seemed, had developed it in spades.  It was an unwavering resolve that had kept him alive in the past, long after another operative would have given in and been lost.  In one harrowing mission gone FUBAR, Killian’s tenacity had kept him alive long after even Liam had broken down and started to make funeral arrangements.  It was, unfortunately, a part of his character that Liam had never been able to teach Killian how to shut down completely.  

Even now, in the safety of their headquarters, even under his older brother’s watchful eye, Killian was always hyper-aware of his surroundings, waiting for the next ambush.  Waiting to spring into action and defend himself and his brother if the need arose.

Liam sorely missed the days when _he_ was the one who carried that burden for the both of them.

“The mission was a success, Captain.  There were a few problems with…” Liam cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.  He knew that Killian clung strictly to protocol whenever he returned from the field, that he wore it like a shield, and most days Liam would even let him.  Days like this, however, he wasn’t willing to torture his little brother just to keep up appearances.  If Killian were feeling better, Liam knew that he would have been called out on playing favorites, but there had to be _some_ perks to being the captain’s brother.  Liam would force Killian to accept them whenever and wherever he could get away with it.

“I can read your report as well as anyone, Commander.  That’s not why I called you in here.”  The implied _‘and you know it_ ’ went unsaid as Liam carefully tried to conceal the concern that wanted to paint itself across his face.  Killian would neither welcome it here, nor would he react well to being ‘mollycoddled’ like some wet-behind-the-ears recruit.

Their definition of the term differed somewhat.

“I’m fine, Liam.”  That response was expected as was the terse tone in which it was delivered, but the statement was a bald-faced lie and tugged at the brother Liam was trying valiantly to avoid being at the moment – for Killian’s sake.

“Would you call an ambulance, drag me to the hospital, or take me home?”  The only way to get through to Killian when he was like this, Liam had found, was to turn the situation on its head.  Killian was just as overprotective of him, and far more willing to allow his captain to be human.

There was a tense moment as Killian silently catalogued his injuries and examined them clinically.  It took an exorbitant amount of time and it seemed he would never answer.  Liam held his breath.

“Home.  Maybe a hospital tomorrow if something changes.”  He looked up and met Liam’s eyes for the first time since he’d entered the office.  The façade dropped a little as he all but pleaded.  “Please, Liam.  Home.”

Liam smiled grimly and contemplated the man before him.  He let Killian squirm just long enough to let him know he was making his own decision before nodding.

“Aye.  Let’s get you home.”

* * *

When Killian had been young, he had learned the hard way – several times over – that winning the fight didn’t always mean you came away without injuries of your own.  Black eyes and bloody noses were an all too common sight on his face as he stalwartly defended his family’s honor on playgrounds and rugby pitches during his primary school years.  He’d broken or dislocated a number of his fingers on other boys’ jaws and suffered through his fair share of bruised ribs and bruised pride until he’d learned how to win at the scraps he got himself into.  It had only been after he’d gotten into a serious row with another boy over an insult to his mother that had landed them both in Accident and Emergency that Liam had finally bowed to the inevitable and started to teach him how to land more hits than he endured.  

The trick, he had learned from Liam and his own hard knocks, was to make it so the other person in the fight didn’t want to hit you again.  The faster you could do that, the less likely you were to end up nursing your own hurts at the end of the day.  You didn’t necessarily win a fight when the other guy was down on the ground and bleeding, but Killian had learned early on that it certainly helped.

The lessons had stuck as he had aged and had followed his brother out of adolescence and into their chosen professions.  Killian had swiftly followed Liam to the Naval College at Dartmouth before putting in his time and being accepted into the Special Boat Service.  Liam, on the other hand, had happily served the early years of his career on one ship or another until being approached by MI-6 to act as somewhat of a liaison, being called on to serve wherever he was needed while still retaining his commission.  Not the safest or the most glamourous of career paths, the two had risen quickly through the ranks in the Royal Navy before an incident on Killian’s last deployment saw them taking off for greener pastures in the States with honorable discharges.  

Unwilling to fully leave the life behind, but desperate to make their own way, the brothers created their current firm with more than a fair share of close calls and nightmare assignments.  Where Liam had taken to command with a sense of relief at being out of the field, Killian had thrived on the danger and the tactical approach to their combined success.  He couldn’t imagine being stuck in an office every single day.  The Brothers Jones were well known within the community as a near guarantee.  It was said that their success was almost like magic.  That success rate, however, always came with a price.

Regretfully, that price usually came out of Killian’s hide.

This assignment had been no different.  He hadn’t been lying to Liam when he’d reported in that the mission was complete, but that wasn’t to say that he had been entirely forthcoming with his injuries.  He knew Liam worried constantly – it had been no different for him when his older brother had been in the field as well – but he was upright, walking under his own power, and no one had needed to come and rescue _him_ to ensure the mission went off without a hitch.  Killian counted that as a mark in the win column.  Now that he was off duty, however, all he wanted to do was get home to his bed and try and cobble the broken pieces of himself back together.

Preferably with minimal Mother Henning coming from a certain brother-slash-flatmate.

Some ice, painkillers, and enough pillows and blankets to sufficiently cocoon him from the outside world for a few hours, a day if he was lucky to sleep that long straight through, and he’d be able to push on to the next potential world crisis in waiting.  

It took longer than he liked to get from Liam’s office to the SUV, but he made it with enough energy left over to climb in and buckle his own seatbelt, _thank you very much_.  If the entire ride home passed in between closing his eyes and blinking them open what seemed like seconds later, Killian wasn’t going to mention it.  He was simply impressed that Liam hadn’t taken the opportunity his nap provided to steer them with utmost haste to the closest hospital instead of their brownstone.

The trouble started when he wanted his body to move _out_ of the SUV.  It seemed as though his muscles and his nervous system were giving each other the silent treatment and Killian wondered idly if the headache he was resolutely ignoring was of the concussion variety, if that was the way his thoughts were spiraling.

He wasn’t quite sure how Liam had managed to get around the front of the SUV quite as quickly as he’d done so, and turned his head to look at the empty driver’s seat incredulously before turning back to meet his brother’s disapproving gaze.  The smile he gave was meant to be reassuring.  If the glare Liam graced him with was to believed, Killian didn’t quite succeed in the attempt.

He had to bat Liam’s hands away from trying to release his seatbelt for him, but once he managed to depress the button, Killian wasn’t entirely sure that making his way up the steps and to his room was worth the effort.  He’d been stationary for too long and his body had taken that as an unfortunate cue to shut itself down for the foreseeable future.  The front bucket seat was comfortable enough for a few hours’ sleep.

Or not.

Liam’s resigned sigh was just barely enough incentive to get Killian moving again before he was manhandled out of the SUV.  He managed to get his feet under him and lock his knees to gain his equilibrium before grudgingly accepting the subtle aid of Liam’s steady hand under his elbow.  Both brothers were fully aware that Killian wouldn’t accept more help than that until they were safely behind the front door and away from potentially prying eyes.  Even _perceived_ weakness was a luxury he couldn’t afford with all the enemies they had _both_ made over the years.

In the end, Killian made it to the front door mostly unaided, and waited somewhat impatiently, somewhat distractedly, while Liam got the locks on the door open to allow them entrance.  He could already imagine collapsing on his bed and letting the world just keep on revolving on its own for as long as patriotic duty to his new country would let him.

* * *

Liam missed the days when Killian would come running to him with a scraped elbow or a bruise that needed his older brother’s touch to make it better.  He would even – grudgingly – admit to missing the days when he’d been called down to the headmaster’s office because no one was at home to come down and claim his little brother after he’d gotten into another fight.  Hauling him home in those days meant Killian was cowed enough by Liam’s glares that he obediently sat at the kitchen table or on the lip of the bathtub until he was sufficiently cleaned up.  Killian would listen to his brother rant and rave with sullen acceptance, but he _would_ at least accept the comfort that Liam was trying as best he knew how to provide.

Most times, the worst Killian had managed was bruises and cuts.  Injuries that were too severe for their first aid kit to handle – anything more than broken fingers, really – were few and far between.  The day that he’d had to walk home alone because they’d sent Killian to hospital was one of the worst days Liam could remember.  They’d hadn’t told him anything more than that, and it was all he could do not to imagine that the worst had happened.  

It was after that day when Liam had decided that since his brother wasn’t going to change on his own – the fighting likely wouldn’t stop until Killian learned how to better direct his latent anger at their father abandoning the family – then the least he could do as a big brother was make sure that there were fewer trips to a doctor.  The going was painfully slow at first as both of them figured out their roles, but Killian took to the informal training after school like a fish to water.  

Sparring in the garden or in out of the way corners of the house had been good for both boys.  Liam had learned how to teach and while there were days when the two butted heads, he had eventually fallen into a natural role as a leader.  Killian had gradually figured out how to protect himself at least as much as he did damage, and the safer outlet for his frustrations eventually led to fewer fights during school.

There were a few things that hadn’t changed in the years since primary school.  Even if Killian no longer dogged Liam’s footsteps quite so closely – he _had_ made a name for himself after all – there had never been a time when they weren’t working together in some capacity.  There had never been a time when they lived separately – deployments notwithstanding – even if Killian insisted that the brownstone they currently called home was Liam’s alone.  There had never been a time when Killian didn’t come to Liam first when he was injured – even if those injuries were now far more likely to require more help than he could give.

It had always been the Jones boys against the world.  While the teenaged version of him hadn’t thought it would end up quite so _literal_ of a job description, Liam wouldn’t have it any other way.

He reminded himself of that now as he watched Killian practically fall through the front door before righting himself against the wall inside their home to toe off his shoes one by one.  

There was still a large part of Liam that wanted to wrap his brother in bubble wrap, ply him with food and painkillers, or – ideally – drag him to a hospital to have someone more qualified than himself or Killian decree that he was all right.  Mostly, however, he had learned to quell the urge to baby his brother and they had reached a compromise for situations just like this.  Liam knew Killian would be more or less honest with him when asked directly, and Killian knew Liam wouldn’t force him to accept outside medical care unless it was absolutely necessary.  

Liam fervently hoped today wouldn't be one of those days when he had to force the issue.

He watched with bated breath as his brother locked his knees and forced himself away from the wall.  Killian took a deep breath of his own, grimaced as he inhaled too deeply and his ribs protested, and grinned cheekily at Liam.

"Don't, Killian," Liam warned, before Killian could offer him false reassurances.  “Don't tell me that you're fine."  

He glared for good measure before hitching Killian's arm over his shoulder and manhandling him down the hall.  Liam ignored the not-so-subtle gasp as he concentrated on leading Killian up the stairs and to his bedroom.  When his little brother - who was, admittedly, not so little anymore - was leaning securely against the wall outside his room, Liam took a good look at him before nodding and turning the doorknob.  It looked like Killian would survive another day.

"Can I interest you in something to eat?"  He knew the question was moot, Killian was already half-asleep on his feet, but it would be a cold day in Hell before Liam didn't ask what else he could do to help.  Somehow, leaving his brother to his own devices still didn't seem to be quite the right thing to do.  Even if it was what said brother inevitably always wanted nowadays.

"Not at the moment, no.  I wouldn't say no to some rum, though.  For medicinal purposes, of course," Killian responded with light sarcasm.

Liam allowed his face to morph into a matching, albeit forced, grin before he shook his head and planned to leave his brother alone.

Killian couldn't be too near death's door if he was cracking jokes.  

It simply wasn’t allowed.

“All right, but I’m waking you up in two hours.”  Liam pushed lightly on Killian’s chest to stop his protests.  “No arguments.”

Killian, naturally, ignored that order and opened his mouth to protest.

Liam cut off whatever response he came up with.  “You haven’t proven to me that you don’t have a concussion, little brother.  I’m waking you up.”

Said little brother rolled his eyes and muttered as he slunk into his room.  “Never passed out.  So Whale says that’s rubbish.”

Nodding his head in agreement, Liam moved to turn back to the stairs.  “He has.  Repeatedly.  I’m still going to check on you in a little while.”

Killian answered by shutting the door with a bang.

* * *

Safe behind his closed door, Killian finally allowed the exhaustion full reign over his body and he almost didn’t make it to the bed.  He appreciated what his brother was trying to do, God knew the man was fighting a losing battle most days trying to keep Killian’s head attached to his shoulders.  He knew that Liam was biting back a lot of his natural predilection towards taking charge of everything in order to allow Killian to flourish as his own person.

It didn’t make it any easier when he was hurting and already at the end of his tether.

He grimaced at the distance between where he had all but collapsed against the door and where his bed was loudly calling to him.  Taking a moment, Killian contemplated whether he should strip off his outer layers and risk toppling over while he stood somewhat propped up, or wait until he was sitting and more or less stable where wrestling his shirt and jeans off would be more of an effort.

Safety won over possibly sending his brother running back up the stairs to check on him, and Killian heaved himself heavily across the room with more effort than he anticipated.  Gingerly, he dragged his shirt over his head and let it drop to the ground before deciding that his jeans would require more energy than he had left.

The dark bruises that wrapped around his ribs on the right side were a bit more progressed than he imagined, but there was no give to the bones when he prodded.  The boot marks and the welts that must litter his back were superficial and more painful than worrying.  He was reasonably sure – now that he had time to truly assess his headache and lack of other symptoms – that the earlier lapse in time was more due to exhaustion than a possible concussion, but he wouldn’t rule it out completely.

Not that Liam would allow him too, regardless.

Killian dug through the night stand’s drawer until he found a bottle of painkillers, crunched several between his teeth and washed the horrible taste down with lukewarm water of questionable age before he allowed himself to slump down on his pillows.

Stretching out on his stomach, Killian shoved his arms under his pillows and tensed every muscle in his body before relaxing into a boneless heap.

He was asleep before he realized that he hadn’t burrowed under the blankets.

* * *

Liam indulged his brother’s fierce independent streak for as long as he could stomach, letting the younger man sleep uninterrupted while he attempted to review the after-action reports from the other members of Killian’s support team.  He had read his brother’s immediately, of course, but the auxiliary reports were slightly less imperative and often went on ad nauseam with more redundancy than Liam could stand.  Unfortunately for his brotherly protective instincts, the captain could find no fault in any part of the mission, nor with any of its perpetrators.

The injuries that Liam wanted to prevent from ever happening again were simply par for the course, an unfortunate side-product of Killian’s brand of field work.

Liam managed to work his way through the majority of the reports before his frustration got the better of him.  He moved to throw something together for dinner, trying to come up with a meal that would go easy on Killian’s stomach while still being palatable enough for himself.  It had been a long few weeks since he had thrown his brother across the world on this mission in the first place, and the difference between defrosting leftovers from the last time Killian had been home and trying to put together what was likely the first real meal his brother had seen in weeks took enough of his concentration that he let more time go by than he’d originally intended.

Time to wake the bear, he supposed.

It was a testament to how deeply his brother was sleeping that Liam was able to push open the door without waking the man.  Liam hoped that Killian slept this deeply at home because he knew he was safe here, but he was realistic enough to understand that the adrenaline drop probably contributed as well.  

Killian let him sit on the side of his bed without waking, and Liam took the opportunity to inspect the various injuries he could see without a challenging glare being directed back at him.  While everything looked painful, Killian had been correct at the office that nothing _needed_ to be taken care of by an overnight stay at hospital.

It didn’t stop Liam from wishing his brother _wanted_ his injuries to be seen by Whale or someone else in the emergency room at Mass General with proper security clearance.

He had to count it as a win that Killian fell asleep without struggling into a clean shirt, knowing that his older brother would be barging his way into the bedroom at any time.

It was the little things.

Liam rested his hand between Killian’s shoulder blades, noting absently that his brother’s breaths were even and deep.  He was about to gently shake Killian awake when he was surprised by slightly slurred words and one bleary eye meeting his own gaze.

“’M fine, Liam.  Killian Jones. Lieutenant Commander at JR Solutions.  Home.  No bloody clue what day it is.  I wouldn’t anyway.  Lea’ me ‘lone.  Sleep now.”  Killian didn’t make another sound as he allowed his eye to slip shut once more.

Satisfied that his brother hadn’t suffered a serious concussion or worse, Liam reached for the ice pack he’d brought upstairs and laid it without warning on the worst of his brother’s bruises.  The shout that action garnered had the older brother ducking a haphazardly flailed fist and smirking.  He kept a hand on the pack to make sure that it would stay and waited for Killian to settle again before releasing it.

“Vengeance, brother.  Go ‘way.”  It seemed full sentences were too overrated now that Killian was halfway back to sleep.

Liam smiled and reached across Killian to pull a discarded throw blanket from the foot of the bed and cover him to the shoulders.  Grinning cheekily, he made a big show of tucking the fabric in tightly around his brother until an affronted growl erupted and sent him laughing and standing from the bed.  It seemed that Killian really would be just fine.

“Dinner’s almost ready, little brother.  It’ll keep for a while, though.”

This time, Liam got the response he’d been impatiently waiting for since the man had stumbled back into his office.

“That’s younger brother, you _prat_.”


	2. An Orphan's an Orphan

 

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

Emma glared down at the paperwork in front of her as if it were solely to blame for her frustrated mood.  As a social worker, she dealt with an array of difficult cases; they all tended to end up crossing her desk.  But Michael was a special case.  This was the third time this quarter alone that she found him sitting in front of her after getting into serious trouble, and she was running out of options that didn’t include losing him in the shuffle of a group home.  There was something about the boy that she couldn't understand – he had this unwavering faith that his brother and sister were going to miraculously show up out of the blue and take him in.  There was no real proof that these siblings even existed; there was nothing in the system on them and all Michael would say was that he had gotten separated from them and they would come get him when they could leave, too.  It made no sense to her, but she could tell he wasn't lying.  The whole situation baffled her.

In the meantime, Emma just wanted to place him in a relatively stable home and have him accept that he needed to stay there.  Every time she tried to match him with a family, he ran away or pushed enough buttons that they sent him back.  He didn’t want a family, he said time and again, because he already had one.  He just had to wait.  They would find him, he was sure of it.  Emma had told him just as often that if a relative came to get him, she’d absolutely grant them guardianship as long as they were fit to raise him.  But Michael refused to believe her.

If things didn't change with his attitude soon, however, she was going to have no other choice but to remand him to one of the group homes.  It was a last resort and one Emma sorely hoped she wouldn't have to follow through.

This last time had been the worst - involving the foster parents, the school system, and the local police - and Emma had only just managed to keep Michael from being expelled and having to pull a stint in a juvenile locked facility.  The foster parents weren't quite so amenable to giving him a second chance.

Michael had purposely left the house long after curfew and had gotten himself caught breaking windows at the local elementary school.  In front of the security cameras.  Which he stuck his tongue out at.  Repeatedly - just in case someone was unsure that he knew he’d be caught.  She groaned in exasperation before putting down her pen and meeting Michael's eyes.

The glare that greeted her was a mirror to the one she had perfected when she was even younger than the orphan in front of her.

"Nice job, Buddy.  Just what were you hoping to accomplish here?"  She matched his glare with one of her own, and was secretly thankful to see that the boy was not yet immune to her own withering looks.  When he was, they were both in trouble.

Michael broke the staring contest first and started to pick at imaginary lint on his jeans.  He mumbled something that Emma didn't catch, and didn't try again when she asked him to repeat himself.  She sighed and moved around the desk to crouch down next to her wayward charge.

“What is it, Michael?  I just want to help.  What was wrong with _this_ family?”  Emma laid her hand over his, trying in vain to stop the fingernails from scratching another hole into his jeans.  It was hard for her, sometimes, knowing from experience that it seemed like the whole world was against you and no one cared.  It had taken her years to understand that her social workers really were trying to help her, and by then she was out of the system and struggling to remember that true freedom was what she absolutely wanted.  Every case that Emma worked was another opportunity to teach that lesson before it was too late and another possibility that her charges wouldn’t grow up like she had.  Placement for every child was impossible, she had learned that with a lot of heartbreak and more than her fair share of rum soaked nights, but it was still her goal with every case that she took.

It didn’t help that every time one of her errant kids landed back in her office, Emma saw herself staring back with their frightened eyes.

She was still searching for a family.

She was determined, at least, to find one for Michael.

It seemed more realistic at this point.

Said boy was still attempting to pick a hole in his jeans under Emma’s hand as he studiously attempted to disappear into the upholstered chair he’d spent the last half hour slumped in.  When she grasped his fingers to finally halt their frenetic movement, Michael looked up, seemingly startled that she was even there.

“What were you trying to do, Michael?  You were trying to get caught, weren’t you?”  Emma wished she could say that she was surprised when he nodded.

“They were too _good_.”  The whispered words that Emma could hear now that she was right next to him cut her deeply.  She was positive that if Michael had kept meeting her eyes when he admitted that, she would be able to see tears checked valiantly in the corners of his eyes.  He had been in the system long enough to be broken by the number one unwritten rule of foster kids everywhere.

Never let them see you hurting.

Emma’s own tears remained stubbornly where they belonged.  It wasn’t like she didn’t follow the same ideal, after all, even if she wanted to make Michael understand that the rule was absolute bull.  There was something innately wrong with a system that made the foster kids no one wanted feel so alone in the world that they lost that knack of trusting other people – to see the world as anything other than just plain mean.

Michael, it seemed, had already lost the ability to understand he deserved a family that was ‘too good’.

Emma moved her hand from Michael's knee to grasp the back of his neck, letting her thumb soothe back and forth across tight muscles.  "We can find you a family, Michael.  If you'll just try to meet me halfway."  She cut him off before he could start familiar protests.

"It doesn't have to be forever.  We aren't talking about putting you up for adoption.  If Wendy or John or both come back for you..."

"When!  When they come back for me.  You never believe me, Emma, but my fam...but my brother and sister _will_ come back!"  Michael shot to his feet and started pacing through the office.

“I believe you, Michael.”  She spoke softly and didn’t move from where she was kneeling.  He had been listening to people yell at him for so long today that the quiet tone accomplished more to bring him back to her than matching him in volume would have done.

It wasn’t the first time that they’d had this argument.  Unfortunately, it likely wouldn’t be the last, either.

Emma waited patiently until Michael finally calmed down enough and stopped in his tracks.  He stared at her for a long while before cocking his head to the side.  "You really do, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Buddy."  Emma reached out a hand to him, hoping Michael would take it.  "I just want to help you.  When... _when_ your brother and sister come back for you, they're not going to want you to have been run through the mill like this, will they?  You're not giving up on them if you let yourself be happy in the meantime.”

When the boy in front of her finally grasped hands with Emma, it took all of her willpower not to grin like an _idiot_ in front of him.  God forbid he think she was laughing at him - they'd be back to square one faster than Emma could say 'boo'.  She gave a little bit of a tug, letting Michael make the final move and giving in to that grin after he practically fell into her arms and hugged her tightly.

Ten years old was far too young to have the world settled so firmly on his shoulders.  Emma wanted him to let her take some of that weight on her own.  God knew her shoulders had been forged with stronger weights over the years.

Awhile later, when the shoulder of Emma's shirt was damp and Michael had calmed himself down, she let him pull quickly away.

"So what's going to happen to me, now?"  Michael’s voice cracked on the last word, and Emma tried not to look disheartened as she glanced at the clock.  It was getting far too late in the day to find a semi-permanent placement for him today.

Michael caught the movement and looked resigned to his fate before Emma could even open her mouth.  "Juvie or Harrington House for the night?"

Emma puffed out her lips before squinting her eyes in thought.  There was nothing she wanted to do less than drop Michael in either of those options - especially since it was Friday and the likelihood of finding him a long term house to try before Monday was slim to none.  And slim was hightailing it out of town with every second she delayed.

There was one option she had up her sleeve if she played her cards right.  Technically, the Nolans weren't active foster parents at the moment.  Mary Margaret was in the last days of her third trimester and had asked to be taken off the roster for short-term and emergency placements until after the birth of her son.

But they would owe Emma a favor for the babysitting duties she had already volunteered for once the newest Nolan graced them all with his presence.

If she and Michael were convincing enough, Emma might be able to get an advance on that favor.

The only issue was that Michael had burned that bridge the last time he'd been placed with them for a week.

"Emma?"  Michael looked concerned and she realized how long it had been since he'd asked where he was spending the night.

"I'm going to need you to look extra sad and cute and angelic.  Do you think you can pull that off for a weekend until I can find a new family to take you?  Can you be on your best behavior until I come get you?  Because if you can't, Michael, tell me now and I'll call Harrington House.  If I have to come get you this weekend, I'm going to have to drop you at Juvie and you might just have to stay in the foster wing until I calm down."  She leveled her best glare at him and crossed her arms.

To a ten-year old, it looked like she meant serious business.

To Emma's relief, Michael seemed to seriously consider it before he asked, "just for the weekend, right?  You'll come and get me on Monday?"

Biting back a smile at his pragmatic tone, she nodded and held up her pinky as she promised to be there right after school on Monday to get him.

The boy hooked his little finger around hers and then asked, "So where are you taking me?"

Emma just smiled conspiratorially before leading him out to her Bug.

* * *

Every time Emma pulled down Storybrooke Avenue she mentally cackled at the sheer absurdity of the street's name and simultaneously compared the Nolans’ life to a fairy tale.  It should be, she supposed, completely expected that they would live on this street.  She only hoped that when she showed up on their doorstep with her and Michael's hats in hand, so to speak, that it would be the kind, generous, and too giving for her own good Snow White personality of Mary Margaret’s that opened the door.  If Emma's luck wasn't with her, then it would be the hormone fueled, short tempered alter ego that had been making more and more appearances as the newest prince learned how to tap dance and play soccer in her stomach.

Emma pulled the Bug to a stop in the Nolans’ driveway before turning to glare at Michael in warning.  She had always liked the kid, but she knew he could be a bit of an acquired taste.  After all, she had a soft spot for the hard to place kids.

Michael, thankfully, was already looking appropriately chagrined and a little bit pale.  She didn't even have a chance to speak before he cut in over her.  "I really screwed things up here, Emma.  Are you sure they'll take me?"

Her heart broke at the defeated tone.  Michael knew he'd messed up with the Nolans.  What he hadn't gotten the chance to see was that Mary Margaret had figured out second chances down to a science.  Yell at her because she was too nice and a broken-down Emma just out of juvenile hall didn't know how to handle that?  The obvious solution was to fix it with milk, cookies, and a couch to sleep on for the night with no other questions asked.  Show up on her doorstep as a brand new social worker with three siblings just removed from their abusive home that she couldn't bear to separate when the Nolans only had one spare room?  Well, just fix it with sleeping bags, the couch cushions, and plans to remodel the office into another bedroom at the earliest convenience.

Michael had tried their patience when he'd stayed with the Nolans the last time, yes.  And it had been to everyone's benefit that Emma place him in a long term home quickly since he'd have to be moved soon anyway.  The Nolans foster license made their home more of a waystation than a long-term solution.

But the fact that Michael had found the leftover house paint and made an abstract mural on the Nolans’ garage door while they dealt with a family emergency and the neighbor in charge of watching him was oblivious?  That wasn't why Emma was hesitant to bring him here.  They'd forgive him for that in a heartbeat.  They probably already had.

Emma just didn't like taking advantage of the Nolans’ unwavering generosity when she didn't have to.

But Michael was out of options for the moment.

A very pregnant Mary Margaret answered the door to  a maniacally grinning Emma and a cowed looking Michael standing on her front porch.  She waved off the apology for the long wait before Mary Margaret could finish giving it.  Apparently, at nine months pregnant, it took a while to lever herself off the couch and David wasn’t home because he had turned the car right back around when he got home from work to get her another tub of Peppermint Stick ice cream.

"Emma," she groaned even as she stepped aside to let her newest foster and her soon to be indebted friend in.

"Before you say anything, I know you asked to be made inactive until the little guy comes and I know that you need to take care of yourself because it looks like he's going to get here any minute and I know that I promised I wouldn't do this to you even though you said you knew that I would, but I..." Emma stopped tripping over her words when Mary Margaret held up her hand to quell the rambling.

"I won't be any trouble, Mrs. Nolan.  I promise I'll stay in the room until Emma can come get me and you won't even know I'm here.  I swear."  Michael's little voice chimed in before Mary Margaret could get a word in edgewise.

Mary Margaret smiled genially down at him and then shot Emma a resigned look.  When Emma risked a glance down at Michael, she had to bite back a grin of her own.  It seemed her charge had taken the ‘sad and pathetic’ angle to heart.

Complete with pouting lip and shiny puppy dog eyes.

There may even have been tears.

“You don’t have to stay in _your_ bedroom the whole weekend, Michael.  Why don’t you go pick one of the rooms and put your backpack down and then we’ll find you a snack.  Emma and I are going to talk logistics.”

Emma was pretty sure that meant adequate bribery requirements.

The two women watched Michael slink off towards the bedrooms before moving towards the living room to get Mary Margaret back off her feet.  As she sat down in the recliner, Emma took a page out of Michael’s book and attempted to look innocent and pitiable.  Judging by the exasperated glower that Mary Margaret pinned her with, she wasn’t entirely successful.

“What did you want me to do?  I don’t think Harrington House has a bed for him tonight, and he’s still too young for Roxbury House.  I can’t put him in Juvie for the weekend, I just can’t.”  Emma remembered the few times she had found herself there in between group home placements.

“No, Emma, he doesn’t belong in any of those places, but my due date is in four days!  There wasn’t anyone else who could take him for the weekend?”  Mary Margaret pitched her voice down low just in case Michael could overhear them.

Emma spoke just as quietly.  “I don’t even know where I’m going to put him after this weekend.  He’s been through so many of the long term parents already and I’m not sure if there’s anyone I haven’t tried.  I’m going to be on the phone all weekend trying to find someone to take him in, I promise.  And if I have to, I’ll take him up to Mission Hill on Monday if Harrington can take him so you won’t have to worry about him.  It’s either that or bring him to Longview Farm or way out to Stetson in Barre, and I just…” she looked over Mary Margaret’s shoulder and smiled.

“Hey, Buddy, did you get settled in?”

Michael looked hesitant, huddling in the doorway like he wasn’t sure he had permission to be there.  He looked like he wanted to make a break for the car, so Emma remained where she was and reached out her hand to beckon him in rather than going to him.  It took a moment, but finally he nodded haltingly before coming to stand by her.

“Yes, ma’am.  I put my backpack in the closet, if that’s okay?”  Michael threw this question in Mary Margaret’s direction without meeting her eyes.

“Dear Lord, Emma, what did you threaten him with?  David doesn’t even sound like that when I’m in a mood.”  Mary Margaret smiled at Michael so he would know she was joking, but Emma could hear the hormones starting to make their presence known so she stood up and ushered the Nolans’ temporary foster towards the kitchen.

“Come on, Trouble, let’s go and make you a snack.  Maybe we can get started on dinner before David gets home?  Can I get you anything, Mary Margaret?”

* * *

Emma ended up staying for the dinner that she made with Michael’s help before heading back to the apartment she was currently calling home.  The unpacked boxes that were stacked in various corners were a project that she kept putting off.  The location was ideal; being in Back Bay allowed her to be close to the office while also keeping her near the Nolans.  Her apartment was within walking distance of the Charles and the Common, both of which gave her the illusion of being able to get away from the city.  There was nothing Emma wanted more, however, than to be able to move out of the city entirely and trade the sometimes ridiculous commute times she knew that would come with a move for the ability to breathe fresh air and hear nothing louder than the calls of birds in the morning.  Someday, she’d take it upon herself to break at least as far as rural Central Massachusetts – if not for somewhere completely new and further away.

For now, living near the Nolans was enough of a crutch that Emma could put aside dreams of sprawling landscapes and freedom.

Emma was just settling down with a glass of wine and her latest novel when the ringing of her personal cell startled her.  There weren’t many people who had this number and not her work-issued cell phone, so she jumped to answer it before the voicemail could kick in.

“Emma?  It’s David,” there was a long pause in which Emma was already calculating, irritatedly, just how long she could leave Michael to stew at the Connelly Center before someone noticed he didn’t really belong in Juvenile Hall.  There was muffled conversation on the other end of the line before David continued and then Emma was on her feet headed for the door.

“He’s early.  The baby.  Mary Margaret’s water broke.  I have Michael with me, but…”  Emma cut him off before he could continue mentally pulling himself in two directions.

“I’m on my way, David.  Leave him in the family center and let Belle or Elsa, whoever’s on, know that he’s there.  Get in there with Mary Margaret and I’ll worry about Michael.”  Emma didn’t take it personally when he hung up on her, grabbing her keys and, with a momentary thought of trying to find parking versus the short walk from the subway stop, walked past her car to catch the Green Line.

Emma stood with increasing impatience at the Brigham and Women’s hospital security desk, waiting to be allowed up to the fifth floor to find Michael and check in with David.  Mary Margaret had drilled the process into both of them long before her due date, but in the heat of the moment, tolerance was at a premium.  She was tapping her fingers on the desk when she caught a glimpse of rusty-colored hair ducking through a door.  Any other day she wouldn’t give it a second thought.

But that looked like _exactly_ the same shade of red as Michael’s hair.

Emma took off _with_ a second thought – that she was going to _kill_ this kid when she got hold of him.

Michael was fast, she would give him that.  In the instant it had taken her to turn from the security desk and look again, the boy was already long gone.  She followed the most likely path he would have followed, hoping her instinct that he was making a break for a less crowded exit was right.

When she caught an “Authorized Personnel Only” door closing around the corner from where she was, Emma bet she was on the right track.

Michael’s path was a little easier to follow after that, and she found herself outside and crossing the street into a dark alley near Boston Children’s Hospital.  

That was the first time she heard his voice.  He was clearly furious about something.

“Hey!  Where’s Wendy?  What did you do wi…” his voice was cut off with a muffled cry and Emma burst into the alley to see what had happened.

A greasy looking man heading deeper into the alley with his arm wrapped around Michael’s waist and a hand clamping over his mouth was the last thing she expected to see.  Michael’s feet were kicking and he was punching the man for all he was worth, but it made little difference.

“What the hell?!  Let him go, you bastard!”  Emma took a step towards the man who was dragging Michael further into the darkness between the buildings.  She started to pull out her phone to at least dial 911 but dropped it back to her pocket when her charge was yanked into a puddle of light.  The man holding Michael was grinning at her in such a deranged manner that Emma put her hand out in supplication instead.  She was willing to do anything if it meant getting the boy away from him.

Emma gentled her voice to a tone she had taken with countless skittish youth over the years.  “Look, he’s a handful and you don’t want the trouble.  Just let me have the boy and you can go on your way.  I’ll give you my cell so you know I won’t call…”

“Don’t waste your breath, girlie.  My son makes the deals, not me.  I’m taking this boy home with me.”  The man tightened his grip as Michael squirmed, his grunts stifled as he tried to fight his way free.  Before Emma could retort, the would-be kidnapper cried out in protest and shook his hand free of Michael’s mouth.  Emma would bet anything that there were teeth marks in his palm.

“Emma!  Help!”  The man’s fist came down on the back of Michael’s head and he slumped, boneless, before being thrown over a shoulder.   

“Go on your way now.  I’ll take this trouble off _your_ hands.”  He grinned again before slithering off into the night.

Emma followed.

She had just made it around the corner of the building into a courtyard when she was jumped from behind.  The bastard must have thought better of leaving a witness and had lain in wait to attack her when he’d realized she was still following him.  Michael was likely lying unconscious on the cold ground somewhere. One arm snaked around her elbows and chest, dragging her back into him while his other arm wrapped around Emma’s neck and started to squeeze before she could react.

That didn’t stop her from stomping her heel down where she thought his instep would be.  Emma grabbed onto the fist at the side of her neck, trying to get leverage to free herself.  She put up quite a struggle, just managing to loosen the arm around her neck and keeping her from seeing stars, but she couldn’t get free.  Twisting and bending gave her enough room to maneuver her arm away and she landed a well-placed elbow in her attacker’s ribs.

The man grunted and the grip around her chest fell away, but the crushing grip around her windpipe remained.

Then she felt was the cold steel of a gun muzzle poking against her temple.

She stilled instantly.

“That’s enough.  Now I can kill you, or I can leave you.  Keep thrashing about and I’ll know your decision.”  Emma risked a glance down at Michael, insensate at her feet.

“Now, now, that isn’t very sporting, is it Malcolm?  Treating a lady in such a manner isn’t good form.”  Emma could hear the soothing lilt of a British accent coming from somewhere off in the shadows, but the roaring in her ears smothered it.

Stars danced in her eyes and popped like fireworks as the grip around her throat tightened, but Emma struggled to keep her feet under her.  Michael needed her.

The conversation going on around her was heated, but Emma could no longer make out the words over the sound of rushing blood in her ears.  Her vision was going dark and she couldn’t focus.  The argument seemed to go on forever before she felt the world tilt on its axis and it felt as though she were falling down into the abyss.  An eternity later, her descent was halted abruptly and then she was being lowered gently to the ground.  A voice was speaking rather insistently, but it was a pair of strikingly blue eyes that cut through the haze surrounding her.

Emma scarcely managed to croak out a halting “Michael?”, aimed at those blue eyes, before the blackness of oblivion rose up to greet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now we've met Emma and Michael, and they've already managed to get themselves into trouble. Who was that stranger in the shadows, and how did he get there? Tune in next week to find out!
> 
> Reviews? Comments? Concerns? Just want to say hi? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> (also, shameless self-promotion, but tune in on Monday for Never Say Goodbye, an angsty story in three parts)


	3. Operation: Lost Ones

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

After the first day or so, bruises had always been more of an annoyance than a true hindrance to Killian.  Unless, of course, a certain older brother was around to act with all the nurturing tendencies of an enemy combatant while he poked and prodded said bruises to “make sure they were healing correctly”.  Killian was somewhat tempted to believe that this was some sort of revenge for worrying Liam _again_.  All he wanted was to lick his wounds in private and then stubbornly push the pain into a heavily guarded compartment of his mind until it was little more than vague memory.  In the field it was a necessary skill, and one that he was proud to excel in, that happened subconsciously in moments.  He found no such luck at home with Liam plying him with ice packs and growling every time Killian even thought about traveling further than the head outside his room.  Thoughts of traversing down the stairs?  He was pretty sure Liam would have had an apoplectic fit if he’d even tried.

Of course, when he let himself think about it carefully while plotting the most likely egress that would allow him to circumvent Liam’s watch, those stairs might just be too much for him until after he’d had some true rest.

Ice packs and painkillers aside, he had spent most of the last three days alternating between considering different paths of escape from the brownstone, catching up on some reading that he’d started while staking out a mark on the mission before this last one, and napping whenever he let his guard down enough.  It was a testament to just how exhausted Killian had let himself become to complete his latest mission that it took those three whole days before he realized Liam was keeping something from him.

Now that he was looking back on the last few days, it was in all the minute details.  Liam had always been overly attentive when Killian allowed him to do so, but he was going over the top this time.  Usually, Mother Henning of this caliber was saved for the few instances when Killian allowed – or, even more rarely, asked for – a hospital visit.  Having to be extracted and air-lifted to medical aid brought Liam’s well founded concern to textbook levels of care.  The few times he’d nearly gotten himself _killed_ were a test in just how long the brothers could tolerate each other’s character flaws.

Killian shuddered when he remembered the time Liam had thought he _had_ been killed.  His brother had nearly fallen over in exhaustion of his own trying to help Killian heal.  It had been welcome at the time, no matter how much it had tested his patience when all he wanted to do was forget that he had let his guard down so far as to be captured, tortured, and nearly lost.

A few bruises and abrasions – and the minor concussion he still wouldn’t admit to – didn’t warrant nearly the amount of concern his brother had been heaping on him since he’d gotten home.  Something was definitely going on and Liam wanted nothing more than to keep Killian away from it.

His older brother had spent years in the field with MI-6, crafting covers and only allowing information that he wanted to pass come to light, but even with his last few years behind a desk he was usually a closed book.

Except to Killian.

It was one of his crowning achievements, knowing that his older brother could withhold information from the most accomplished of counterintelligence agents, but usually one look from Killian would tell him everything he needed to know.  From there it was just a matter of time before he could weasel the details out of Liam.

Whatever this was, it was important and that meant it was time for Killian to get off his backside and back to work.  No matter what his brother thought.

* * *

Liam whistled to himself in the kitchen while he worked on constructing a sandwich somewhat absentmindedly.  He had no warning when Killian managed to sneak up on him.  His heart was in his throat as he went from contemplating mayo or mustard to reaching for a gun that wasn’t on his hip when he realized there was a person behind him.

“ _Christ_ , Killian.  When did you get down here?”  Liam wanted to smack the smirk off his little brother’s face as his heart rate came down from the rafters.  In truth, he was less than pleased to see that the swift recovery time his brother always counted on was in full play again.  There was nothing he wanted more than to ferry Killian back up the stairs and lock him in his bedroom until this latest threat had passed.  There were a number of competent field agents under his purview that he could assign this mission to, but his brother would never forgive him for keeping him away from _this_.  Liam couldn’t keep Killian away from taking down the organization that had so thoroughly broken the younger man’s spirit and resolve.  It was only Liam’s connections and his willingness to do _anything_ for his little brother that garnered them both honorable discharges instead of a misconduct discharge and brig time for Killian.

It still broke Liam’s heart to remember the days after Killian came back from Somalia, hardly able to string two sentences together without dissolving into tears or looking for the nearest wall to punch.    He was surprised, some days, that with all the hurt his little brother was clinging to, the man didn’t find solace in the bottom of a bottle.  Instead, Killian threw himself into whatever projects he could find, tearing apart their bathroom one weekend to renovate it and completely clearing out their garage the next week to reorganize.  It took everything he had to keep his only family from completely self-destructing and there were some days where it took more than that.  Liam had battled his own helplessness as he watched Killian spiral, finally forcing his brother into counseling and ultimately uprooting their whole life to take him away from any reminder of the Royal Navy and what his last deployment had entailed.  

Gone were the days where a smiley face drawn on a plaster and a biscuit with milk would heal all his kid brother’s hurts.

The renovation projects didn’t stop when they arrived in Boston; not entirely.  But in their first few months in the States, Killian’s anger and helplessness were pounded out on the old brownstone Liam had found for them to restore.  Somewhere in the chaos, the home that needed to be fixed gave Killian a new purpose and a safe way to channel his frustrations.  Like Liam’s fighting lessons as a child, the various needs of the house allowed Killian success of his own making.  It was only once he began to fight his way past the pain that Liam looked for a new career path for both of them.  Neither one knew anything other than her Majesty’s Navy, but their opportunities were limited now.  The need to serve was still heavily ingrained into who they were, but the strict nature of the Armed Forces had – to their knowledge at the time – contributed wholly and directly to Killian’s downfall.  They needed the best of both worlds in order to thrive.

So came the start of JR Solutions.  

A modest firm housed behind a nondescript door located in the heart of Boston, Liam was loathe to put a label on exactly where his business fell in the Circuit, but the one thing he was adamant on was that they were _not_ and would never be mercenaries.  Using his days at MI-6 to model his new endeavor, Liam pulled from several different agencies and militaries to staff his business.  With Killian’s recent difficulties in Somalia in mind, he held the men and women he hired to the same hierarchical structure of the military to keep order but also allowed the individual autonomy that would allow them to cultivate their own success.  Beyond that, there was a vast breadth of specialties that were handled by his corporation – from counterintelligence to surveillance to security and acquisitions.  Liam sent his subordinates out on a daily basis to complete missions both foreign and domestic.  JR Solutions had, on occasion, taken projects that were more grey area than strictly above board, but those were few and far between.  There was a long vetting process before all but the most time critical missions even graced his desk, and _every_ mission got his seal of approval before it was metered out to one or more of his agents.  

And then there was the project that not even Killian knew was running in the background.  The one that had _finally_ come to fruition and had Liam in a constant state of consternation since he had learned of its results the day after he brought Killian home from his latest mission.

Liam kept a constant ear to the intelligence community for actionable intelligence on the whereabouts of Malcolm Gold or, more importantly, his son – the mastermind of their own crime syndicate.  The bane of Killian’s existence, Robert Gold ran a fairly extensive ring that specialized in human trafficking and dabbled in smuggling and ransom when the deal was lucrative enough.  

And the father – codenamed Peter Pan – had surfaced in Boston of all places just three days ago.

Liam knew that the minute Killian found out that there was a chance he could hunt down Malcolm Gold, he would be out of the brownstone and off to the races.  It was the only foreseeable outcome and there was nothing Liam wanted more than to help his brother take down the men who had ruined him.  But he wanted Killian to be at his best before that happened.

Which is why he had been using every trick in his vast arsenal to keep his little brother too busy with the healing process to notice his own distraction.

He should have known it couldn’t last long; Killian was uncanny in his ability to ferret out information.

Liam supposed it was what made him so successful at his job.  Even if he wished Killian still had enough ‘little brother awe’ so as not to turn those skills on his older brother.

So he put the finishing touches on his sandwich before moving to put all the accoutrements that had gone into it back in their respective places.  He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer to force upon Killian.  Liam handed off the pack with a glare that brooked no argument before settling himself at the breakfast nook and took the biggest bite he could manage to figure out how much longer he could stall.

* * *

Killian rolled his eyes as he shoved the ice pack unceremoniously under his shirt and bit back a grimace as the cold assaulted his senses.  He was mentally calculating the hours until he could convince Whale to clear him for active duty and get away from the coddling he had endured with dwindling grace the last few days.

When he watched Liam stuff nearly half a sandwich into his mouth and start chewing laboriously, he knew he wasn’t going to have much of a fight in front of him.  His older brother was nothing if not pragmatic – he already knew when he’d lost.

“’M not telling you anything.”  Or maybe Liam _didn’t_ know he’d lost.

All the more fun for Killian then.

He leaned back on his chair and smirked.  The assessing look he leveled Liam with was one that he had perfected over the years.  It had garnered him information on everything from where his brother had stashed the few Christmas presents he’d scraped together to weapons caches to state secrets.  It could certainly wheedle out whatever Liam was trying to hide from him.

Killian was nothing if not a patient man.

Of course he had learned that patience from Liam over the years, and his older brother was determined to push it to the breaking point and perhaps beyond, if he had anything to say about it.  It took another two days of cajoling, sneaking, and otherwise being a royal pain in Liam’s backside before his brother even showed signs of snapping.  Clearly this secret was important, and that in and of itself finally told Killian how to approach this ‘mission’.

“You really don’t want me to find this out, do you, brother?”  Killian had cornered Liam in the hallway between their bedrooms, giving him little escape from the onslaught.

Liam looked resigned, but there was a glint in his eyes that told Killian there was still fight left in him.

Killian did love a challenge.

“If I agree that I don’t want you to know this yet, will you let me go downstairs?  I have a conference call in ten minutes.”  The tone of voice suggested that Liam knew better than to hope this was a viable option.

Killian looked at Liam searchingly.  There was something about his brother’s body language that made him think about his answer.  He hadn’t noticed it before, but Liam’s fierce guarding of this secret was unlike anything Killian had ever experienced with him.  This wasn’t just about some mission that was vexing his commanding officer.  And it certainly wasn’t just about a big brother wanting to keep his little brother out of the loop.  Whatever Liam was keeping close to the vest was far more important than that.  It almost made Killian back down.

Almost.

“You could go downstairs a lot sooner if you just tell me what it is you don’t want to tell me, you know.”  Killian almost laughed at the eye roll he was graced with at this statement.  He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible.  It was clear that he was blocking the path to the stairs, but he wasn’t being combative about it.

It was ultimately up to Liam whether or not he could trust his brother with this, and Killian told him as much.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Killian.  I _will_ tell you everything you need to know, when you need to know it.  It’s just…” Liam trailed off and Killian didn’t miss the furtive glance at his ribs.

“I’m fine, Liam!” Killian exclaimed exasperatedly before abandoning the wall and throwing his hands up in frustration.  “I haven’t spent so much time on the sidelines for some minor bruises since before I was a cadet at Dartmouth.  It’s time to let me get back to it.”

Killian took a deep breath and held it as he stood his ground.  He hadn’t meant to lose his temper like that, but enough was enough.  As he waited for Liam to make his final assessment, he could see it in his brother’s eyes that he’d hit the nail on the head.  It wasn’t the sensitivity of the information, per se, that was holding Liam back, Killian could see his brother _wanted_ him read in.  What was holding Liam back was his belief that he still needed to shield his baby brother from the big bad monsters.

Killian tried not to let the hurt from that slight show on his face.

Liam sighed and nodded.  “Let me take this conference call first, then I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Killian shook his head, still not moving from his perch.  “All of it, Liam.  You’ll tell me all of it.”

The older brother broke the staring contest first and dipped his head in acquiescence.  “Yes, Killian, all of it.” He sounded almost apologetic.  “You need to know all of it.”

Killian let him down the stairs.

* * *

Liam shut the door to the office and leaned his head against the cool wood.  For the first time since he told a much younger Killian that he was going off to the Naval College and would no longer be sharing a bedroom with him, Liam honestly had no idea how his little brother was going to react.  He knew that Killian had been the one to sort out the link between Commander Teach and the Rumplestiltskin conglomerate that had eventually seen Teach in the brig and then summarily kicked out of the Navy with nothing more to his name than his disgrace.  Liam was aware that it was under _his_ express instructions that no intelligence on the subject should be passed from any of his agents directly to Killian.  He wasn’t so naive that he didn’t know that his brother had feelers out on his own looking into either Gold’s whereabouts, that some of Killian’s missions had coincided with reports of Gold’s whereabouts.  He also remembered that the last few times Killian had gone after either Malcolm or Robert, he never came away unscathed - physically or emotionally.

He _knew_ that his brother was going to be incensed to know that Liam had been running interference the whole time to protect him.

But it was time to stop cosseting Killian.  

As much as it might kill Liam to do so.

* * *

Killian wasn’t planning on listening in to his brother’s conference call.  It wasn’t necessarily related to whatever Liam had been hiding from him, and he trusted his brother’s word when he said that he would tell him everything that he’d been hiding over the past few days.  That didn’t mean Killian was going to just sit up in his room like a good little boy, waiting idly for Liam to decide it was the right time to tell him.  He made his way down to the kitchen to start working on dinner to make sure he was visible when Liam was done.

Then his brother’s authoritative voice caught his attention.  “I’m looking at actionable intelligence on Peter Pan, but what can you tell me about Rumplestiltskin?”

Killian’s thoughts spiraled.  The code names that he found just as pretentious as the men to whom they were assigned sent fire rushing through his veins and made him see red.  Those two were the reason that his brother had given up his promising career in the Royal Navy to bring Killian to Boston to start over.  They were the force behind Teach’s assignment to the Somalia deployment in the first place.  It was because of them that Killian spent every minute of down time that he could get away with tracking smuggling rings and looking at pictures of the worst of humanity, trying in vain to find a link to them so he could find justice for a boy who had once found a place in Killian’s heart.

He was still standing frozen outside of the office, fuming at the closed door, when his brother came out some time later.  

“I think we need to talk now, Liam.”  He was surprised at how strangled his voice sounded as he tried not to think about how long his older brother had been gathering intelligence behind his back.

Liam nodded with a pained sigh and pushed past him into the living room.  Dropping into the recliner, he pitched forward and cradled his head in his hands.  “Aye, little brother.  It’s time to send you back into the hornet’s nest.”

It took them hours to sort through all the details, all the intelligence that Liam’s agents had gathered behind the scenes, all the information that Killian had stored away that would eventually take the syndicate down.  Killian understood, as much as he was angry about it all, why Liam hadn’t gotten his hopes up before now.  How could he not when he would have done the same were the situations reversed?  

This was the first time that they had concrete evidence as to Peter Pan’s whereabouts – and he was in their own city to boot.

Killian barely took the time to check the safety on the small gun in his ankle holster before tucking his main weapon out of sight and heading for the door.

Liam was there, waiting.

“Get out of my way, Liam.  I’m going.”  He tried to reach past his brother to pull on the doorknob.

Liam grabbed Killian by the shoulders and looked at him steadily.  He must have seen something that reassured him because without saying anything he nodded and stood aside.

It was only when the door was closing behind him that Killian heard the hushed, “come back to me, little brother.”

Killian wasn’t sure he could honor that request.

It took him several more hours to track down Malcolm Gold’s hotel room, let himself in, and rifle through all of his belongings looking for a clue as to what, exactly, he was doing in Boston.  The man had set up several slicks just about everywhere in the room that Killian could imagine to hide his portfolios and weapons – concealed stashes taped behind drawers, slit into the mattress, even one particularly sly one holding several files carved in the doorjamb to the bathroom.  There was a wealth of information hidden here on potential targets and Killian took the time to photograph each lost orphan to pass on to Liam.  He didn’t have time to track down each child and protect them – that wasn’t his job here, but he had to do _something_.

And that something depended on him catching Malcolm Gold unaware.

Killian supposed he could lay in wait here; avail himself of what passed for a mini bar and meet the elusive Peter Pan with the barrel of his silenced gun poised to fire and be done with it.  

But he wouldn’t do that.

_Well_ , he amended as he poured himself a nip of rum, _not all of that anyway_.  He had a code to uphold, after all, and cold blooded murder didn’t fit into that.  Plus, Killian knew he couldn’t be entirely sure that he had found all of the concealed weapons in the room and wasn’t willing to risk his life before he got to the younger Gold.  Rumplestiltskin was the ultimate target.

Killian was in the process of sneaking out of the room when his luck changed.

“Are you looking for Mr. Gold?” an elderly woman poked her head out from the door across the hall.  “The poor dear rushed out of here earlier with his daughter.  The sweet thing was in labor and she looked like she was having a rough time of it, if you know what I mean.”

Killian tried to look like all of this made sense to him and turned on the charm.  There was nothing about a daughter and he had a feeling she was another one of the Gold’s acquisitions.  “I was hoping to catch them, yes.  Do you know what hospital they were headed to?”

“Oh yes, Dear.  I helped them down to a cab and he was asked the driver to bring them to the Brigham.  I’m sure they’d love to see you.”  She smiled at him as Killian thanked her and tried not to sprint down the hallway.

He wasn’t sure how far behind Pan he was, but he was sure that getting up to the maternity ward was going to take time that he didn’t necessarily have.  Killian was still walking from where he’d parked the SUV when he heard a child’s shrill yell.

“Emma!  Help!”

Years of training and field experience kept him from rushing into the situation when he heard the boy grunt and quit calling out to the mysterious ‘Emma’.  He pulled his weapon and crept through the darkened courtyard, getting closer to the noises so he could better pinpoint where the child was that needed help.

It took him a moment to slink into the dark alley, tempering his need to play the hero at the obvious sounds of a woman now – the Emma that the boy had called for? – struggling and fighting for her life, but his blood ran cold at the next voice he heard.

“Keep thrashing about and I’ll know your decision.”  That greasy voice had taunted him over the past few years, and Killian could no longer wait for the opportune moment.  It seemed he had found his prey quite by accident.

“Now, now, that isn’t very sporting, is it Malcolm?  Treating a lady in such a manner isn’t good form.”  Killian quickly noticed the unconscious boy at Malcolm’s feet as well as the bright green eyes that held a hint of fear as the woman kept clawing at her neck.  The muted light of the alley was just enough to highlight the purpling of her face as her struggles turned sluggish.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Killian Jones.  Swooping in too late to save the day again?”  Malcolm dragged the woman with him as he stepped in front of the boy.  The metal of the gun’s muzzle glinted in the light and Killian pushed past the red that filled his vision and distorted the scene in front of him.

Training his weapon on Pan’s right ear, Killian let some of his anger bleed out of his countenance as he assessed the situation.  “Let the woman and the boy go and I might be willing to chase you down another day.”

There was quite possibly nothing he wanted to do less, but civilians came first.

Malcolm just laughed at him, shook his head, and tightened his grip.  Killian watched as Pan’s hostage gasped at the increased pressure, then went limp and was hauled back against the little man’s chest.

“My son likes to make his deals, but I prefer to find out what people are made of.  It’ll be like a game, you see.  I’m leaving here with the boy.  You can either take the chance that this lovely woman will be fine in this alley unconscious and at the mercy of the Fates, or you can save her and leave me be.  Whatever will you do?”  Malcolm giggled, and it echoed through the alley.

Then, Killian didn’t have any more time to think as the woman was shoved at him and he caught her instinctively.  By the time he lowered her to the ground and looked down the sight of his weapon, only Peter Pan’s laughter was left in the alley.

Cursing under his breath, Killian reached for a pulse at the same time as trading his gun for his cell phone.  “Emma?  Is that your name?  Please, lass, wake up.”  Killian spoke forcefully, shaking her arm in hopes of rousing the woman.

He was rewarded when those alluring green eyes that had caught his attention earlier blinked owlishly up at him.  

“Michael?” her voice croaked as she grasped at the hand that still rested on her upper arm.

Killian was barely able to respond in the negative and hastily bit his lip to keep from uttering a suave “Killian Jones, at your service”.   It surprised him how caught up in the ridiculous notion he was that he wanted to hear her say _his name_.  But before he could make _that_ rookie mistake, she passed out again on the dirty pavement of the alley.

Blowing out a breath, Killian dialed 911 and kept his conversation with the emergency dispatcher short.  Hanging up without leaving his name, Killian kept the blonde head in his lap and his hand on her pulse, relieved that it remained steady.  He only had to wait scant minutes before he heard paramedics racing down the alley with a gurney, and scarcely left himself enough time to fade back into the darkness, not taking his eyes off the woman until he was sure she was safe.


	4. Out of the Frying Pan...

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

Killian gently maneuvered the woman’s head out of his lap as the wails from the ambulance began to assault his ears.  He wasn’t entirely sure what was drawing him to this ‘Emma’, but something tugged at his heartstrings as he backed away from her.  The shadows that concealed him from view also gave him the perfect vantage point to keep watch over her as the paramedics raced in from the street.  The two men worked clinically, efficiently checking vitals and administering oxygen.

That was just about the time that everything seemed to erupt into momentary chaos.

He’d known that Emma was fierce – had seen it in how spitefully she had thrashed against Malcolm’s hold right up until the gun muzzle pressed to her temple.  He heard it in the little growls of frustration even as her attacker cut off the breath from her lungs.  She was never going to be a victim - he understood that implicitly.  But to see her fight her way back into the land of the living, quite literally with both fists?  He’d had no idea the woman could be that intense.

It was a near thing, but years of training only just kept Killian from bolting back out into the alley and tearing the restraining hands away from her limbs, helping her to fight her way free of the men trying to pin her to the asphalt.  He wanted nothing more than to allow this woman the chance to regain her own equilibrium.  However, he had enough field medical training to see that what the medics were doing was to her benefit, so he let them work.  The second they did something he didn’t like, however, they’d never see him coming.

The thoughts startled him a bit – he had no idea who this woman was.  He owed nothing to her.  At best, she was an innocent victim who had been spared the worst of what Gold was capable of.  At the worst, she was a hindrance to his current mission and was currently keeping him from chasing after Malcolm.

It took Emma a moment to stop fighting and to respond to the protests of the paramedics, and at one point Killian heard her ask again for ‘Michael’.  A bit chagrined, he figured out that she hadn’t been asking his name, but must have been calling for the boy Gold had taken.  It was clear that Emma was calm and out of danger now, but Killian couldn’t find it in himself to leave until she was secured to the gurney and out of sight in the back of the ambulance.  The delay was costly, but no amount of compartmentalization training could force him from his hiding spot until the ambulance sirens started to fade away.

When he finally left the alley, his target was long gone.  Killian hadn’t really thought that a man as hard to catch as Peter Pan would linger around the hospital after assaulting a woman and kidnapping a child, but he didn’t have any leads at the moment other than the mysterious ‘daughter’ who had gone into labor earlier that day.  He had no illusions as to whether or not there were actual familial relations – the girl had likely been headed to an unmentionable future, the baby probably fodder for the black market.  Regardless, Killian weaseled his way onto the maternity floor and scoured it for any sign of Malcolm.

Not surprisingly, there was none.

The only silver lining in letting Peter Pan escape was that the girl and her daughter were both resting comfortably in the hospital and out of danger for the moment.  With any luck, she was smart enough to stay that way.

He returned to Pan’s hotel room, again unsurprised to find that it had been cleared out while he wasted his time in the hospital.

Killian cursed himself out the entire way back to the brownstone.  Malcolm Gold - father and right hand man to bloody Rumplestiltskin - had been _right there_.  The man had been in his sight, at the business end of his weapon, and Killian could have taken him down so easily.  He could have ended it if he just pulled the trigger.  

Logically, he knew that there was nothing else he could have done.  For one thing, they needed Pan alive to use against his son.  For another, a shooting in the streets of Boston wasn’t exactly something they could sweep under the rug.  But far more importantly, there had been two civilians at risk and the reward of taking Malcolm Gold down would never have been worth the lives that the wicked demon could have taken out in the process.

Then again, Killian mused bitterly, he had managed to let another boy slip through his fingers to be thrown to the mercy of Rumplestiltskin’s conglomerate.  And there was no mercy to be had there.

The devastated brown eyes of a child from Killian’s past, staring up at him in betrayal as his time with Gold’s men was likely filled with terror and pain, haunted Killian’s memories and his nightmares.  Thinking of him now threatened to break the lock on his emotions, and Killian couldn’t go back to that time.  Couldn’t remember that boy.  No, there was no compassion to be found in the clutches of Malcolm or Robert Gold.

Killian shook himself to banish those memories to the tightly locked box in his heart.  He couldn’t think of _him_ at the moment.  There was a boy out there _right now_ who needed him far more than _that_ one needed him to find vengeance.

Not that he wouldn’t happily complete both missions simultaneously.

Furious at himself and the situation, Killian returned to the brownstone to regroup and comb through the intelligence to find another avenue of attack.  

Liam took one look at him when Killian walked in the house, bit back whatever he was going to say, and simply opened the door to the office.

Some days Killian really did love his brother.

It was hours later when he noticed the sandwich at his elbow and the bottle of water being waved in his face.  Pushing himself back from the desk with a sigh, Killian rubbed a hand harshly down his face before downing half the water in one gulp.  His stomach loudly protested the lack of food, so he dropped the file he had been staring at for who knows how long and dug in.

“Killian,” Liam ventured only after he was reaching for the second half of the sandwich, “get some rest.  It’s already late afternoon.  Go sleep for a few hours and I’ll keep looking for you.”

He started to protest around a mouthful of food when Liam cut him off.  “Just for a couple of hours.  Let me go over this and we’ll figure out your next move when you wake up.  Maybe I’ll see something you’ve missed.”

Killian stubbornly turned back to the file, but the words blurred together and he threw it and the remains of his sandwich down.

Knowing that Liam was right, even if he was loathe to admit it, Killian shoved himself away from the desk and stumbled over to the couch in the corner.  Little more than a loveseat, it was an uncomfortable fit, but Killian was asleep before his brother could protest that there was a perfectly serviceable bed upstairs.

He woke some time later when the sun was low enough in the sky to assault his eyes.  He found the blanket from his bed tucked under his chin and his brother in the same desk chair he had vacated.  He stretched and rubbed the remaining sleep out of his eyes before attempting to stand.  “How long was I out?”

Killian smirked as Liam jumped and turned quickly from the files strewn across the desk.  There was a cell phone trace running on the computer and a mug of steaming coffee next to it.  Without a second thought, Killian lifted the mug to his lips and grimaced at the taste - five years in the States and he still couldn’t get used to the bitterness.  There was tea in the kitchen, he knew, but the quick caffeine hit was much appreciated.  He grinned at the disgruntled look gracing his brother’s features as he took another sip.  

“Get your own,” Liam grumbled as he pried the mug out of Killian’s hand.  It just made the grin grow twice as large.

That smile fell by the wayside when Liam jutted his chin out to the second desk chair.  “Do you want to tell me what happened now?”

Killian dropped heavily in the chair before stealing the coffee back again.  Succinctly, he reported his progress the night before, reining in his anger as he described how Peter Pan had used the two civilians to aid in his escape.  He abandoned his seat to stand up and pace as he spoke about the boy that Malcolm had kidnapped and the ultimatum that he had been presented with.  Killian omitted the fact that he had almost been waylaid by the paramedics because he couldn’t leave the woman behind until he was completely certain she would be safe.

Dropping his head to his chest, Killian raked his fingers through his hair and pulled hard.  “I _had him_ , Liam.  I had him right where I wanted him, out in the open and vulnerable.  We could have gotten so much information out of him, or at least taken him off the streets.  Now he has another kid and who knows who he’s going to be sold to, what they’ll _do_ to him.  God, he could end up…”

Killian trailed off on his own and looked to his big brother for reassurance.

Liam didn’t disappoint.

“There was nothing else you could have done, Killian.  You said it yourself, he had civilians and you couldn’t put them at risk.  Malcolm Gold isn’t the type to leave loose ends, he would have killed the woman and the boy before you could have subdued him.  You know that his son is the priority, we _need_ Malcolm alive to find Robert.  We’ll find them both, and we’ll save the boy.”  Liam ducked his head until he made eye contact with Killian.  He gripped Killian’s shoulder tightly, adding a confident, “ _You’ll_ save the boy.”

Killian nodded before he paled.  “Liam, he doesn’t leave loose ends.  The woman, _Emma_.  She saw him.  He’ll kill her.”

Killian’s heart raced as he realized the grave error he had made in leaving the woman to the care of the emergency personnel.  Gold wasn’t on the maternity floor with his “daughter”, so Killian had assumed he’d fled.  But he could have easily stashed the boy in the trunk of a car or handed him off to one of his lackeys.  Felix’s arrogant smirk came to mind – the man lived to do Malcolm’s bidding.  While Killian was wasting time napping, his nemesis could have already gotten to Emma and her death would be more blood on his hands.

He had already jumped out of the chair and taken a step towards the door when Liam grabbed his arm.  Being manhandled never sat well with him, but without a more thought out plan than “find Peter Pan” followed by “kill Peter Pan”, Killian allowed his brother to push him back into the chair.  

He watched as Liam typed madly into the computer and then sat back with a smile when he noticed Killian’s impatience.  The younger man was practically bouncing in his seat at the wait.  

“Give it a moment, little brother,” Liam soothed as he pointed to the computer.  “Scarlet is getting into their database.  He’ll get you her status at the hospital and an address in case she’s been released already.  You said she was breathing normally before you left, so she won’t be in the hospital long.  Security isn’t a big worry for people like Gold, but it’s enough to prove a hindrance at the hospital.  One that Pan wouldn’t risk.  There was a report filed on her attack already, so he’d be wary of the police presence.  Peter Pan won’t risk erasing her until she’s vulnerable.  Go get cleaned up and I’ll have some intel for you after.”

Everything in Killian chafed at the wait, but he couldn’t make Will Scarlet hack into hospital records any quicker than he already was.  So he followed his brother’s advice, bounding up the stairs to shower.  After allowing the aging pipes the necessary time to creak their way to providing hot water, he stripped down and stepped under the spray.  The shower was a welcome relief and Killian gave himself the time to relish in the simple luxury of running water.  There were plenty of missions he could recount that didn’t allow for more than swiping a cloth of questionably clean – and tepid at best – water over the important parts.  He knew that there was still a wait ahead of them, so instead of rushing, he took the time to let the pounding water sluice over muscles still bunched from sleeping curled in a ball.  He braced himself on the wall and dropped his head so the water streamed through his hair and down the back of his neck.  The heat soothed the aches still left over from his last mission and allowed him to metaphorically wash away last night’s errors.

When the hypnotic effect of the shower was finally outweighed by his impatience, Killian quickly dressed and headed back to the office.  He was met with a travel mug full of good English tea, his brother’s hasty penmanship on a slip of paper, and a bagel.

“Her name is Emma Swan.  She was admitted overnight for observation.  I don’t know how much longer they’ll keep her so Will got you her address as well.  Keep her out of Gold’s hands, little brother.”

It was a testament to how focused Killian was that he ignored the hated moniker in favor of rushing back out into the evening light.

* * *

Emma came to with a gasp that quickly turned into a hacking cough and drowned out any other thoughts than “breathe!”  When she finally forced her lungs to cooperate, the next thing she noticed was the feel of something clamped down on her face and cutting into the skin around her mouth and nose.  Instinct born of her last clear memory of not being able to draw in a breath had her tearing the offending object away and trying to roll to her stomach and stand.

There were hands all over her trying to press her back to the ground and she fought harder to get free.  

It took another moment for her to collapse back to the hard ground under the weight of two men as she paused long enough to try and formulate a new plan of escape.  That’s when she heard the voice trying to cut through her panic.

“We’re trying to help you, lady.  Calm down!”  Emma looked up into a pair of blue eyes and startled herself when the first thought that came to her was that these clearly weren’t the same blue eyes that had caught her attention before.

Noticing the uniform and the patches on the man’s chest that signified him as a paramedic, Emma allowed him to replace the oxygen mask she had torn away and further calmed under the cool air that was clearing the fog in her brain.

Fog that had been blocking the fact that Michael was nowhere to be seen.

“Michael?” her words were muffled under the plastic and it was too hard to be more articulate than that at the moment.

“No, my name is August.  We’re going to lift you up now, just hold on a moment.”  Emma was distracted from rolling her eyes at the second person in recent history who had misinterpreted her question by the sickening feeling of being airborne and then being strapped down.  It sent her blood pressure skyrocketing once more before she forced herself to relax.

No one was trying to hurt her at the moment.

Not to mention that the faster she got through this, the faster she could get the police to find Michael.

So she laid on the gurney in thinly disguised annoyance as she was transported into the ambulance and out again moments later.  Emma recognized the emergency department in the same hospital she had run out of after Michael, but she had been admitted for observation before she realized what the long wait for her test results had proven.  The nurse had mentioned that a police officer was on his way to take a statement on her attack, but Emma just wanted him there to report Michael’s abduction.  Two birds, one stone and all that.

There was a part of her that wanted to ask the nurse if Mary Margaret was doing all right.  There was another part of her that wanted David to come in and check on her – maybe even sit with her for a while – but she ruthlessly shoved that want into the compartment of her heart that housed things like wanting to know who her parents were and why they had given her up.  Her friends had more pressing things to think about than _her_ \- they were clearly busy at the moment, preparing for the birth of their son.  Emma knew that she should let them know what happened.  Let them know that she had lost Michael.  But David likely didn’t even know that Michael had run off yet, and Mary Margaret clearly had more important things to focus on than Emma’s sore throat.

So she lay back on the thin pillow in her hospital room, replaying the look on Michael’s face when he saw she had come after him.  He had been absolutely terrified by what was going on, but there was also a glint of stunned shock at the fact that she had come after him.  Emma knew that confusion all too well.  It didn’t matter how many times Michael had run, he never expected anyone to care enough to come after him.

Emma was sure that his kidnapper was counting on exactly that.  His deranged laugh echoed in her ears as she kept his features written indelibly into her memory.  She wanted to remember everything about the bastard who had taken him so that when the police got to her room, she could give them a detailed description.

It was some time later when she was distracted from poking at the bruises under her chin by Keith Nottingham’s lanky frame standing in the doorway.  She rolled her eyes at the look of sleazy infatuation that seemed to always grace his features around her and waved him in.  Not that she wasn’t glad to see that the officer sent to take her statement was someone she knew and had worked with in the past, but working with him was difficult.

And she didn’t need anything to complicate matters at the moment.

“Good morning, Miss Swan.”  He was nothing if not polite.

Emma started suddenly and craned her neck to look across her sleeping roommate’s bed to the window.  It was still pitch black outside.

The police officer chuckled and pushed himself off the doorframe to come and sit next to her.  “It’s after midnight, Emma.  It’s morning.”

Emma was firmly of the opinion that it didn’t count as morning until you had slept, but kept her mouth shut.  She leveled a pointed gaze at the small notebook in Nottingham’s hand and waited impatiently for him to begin.

He listened quietly as she recounted everything that had happened.  His pen furiously wrote down every detail that she mentioned about her attacker.  He nodded along as she spoke about the man’s oily accented voice and how it seemed that Michael knew him.

That was when he put down the pen.

“Michael Darling, right?  Your runner?”  He suddenly sounded almost bored.

Emma remembered the number of times she’d had to call or gotten calls from the police because Michael had run off again.  She knew the boy had gained a reputation as a runaway.  She didn’t care about any of that and the glare she leveled at the officer should have clued him in.

It didn’t.

“Look, Emma, I can see you were attacked.  But are you sure this man took Michael?  You said you were in that alley because the kid was running.  You know I’ll look for him either way.”

Emma fumed.  “You think I’m making this up?  Keith, he was kidnapped!  I stood there and watched as the son of a bitch knocked out a ten-year old kid so he could take off with him.  What the hell?”

Nottingham raised his eyebrow incredulously.

“There was a witness!  It can’t be too hard to locate the guy who called 911 for me.  Find him and he’ll tell you that the bastard took off with a child.  I don’t care what you think of Michael, he was kidnapped tonight!”

“I’m just saying…”  Nottingham was cut off by a harried looking David rushing into the room.

“Emma!  Are you all right?  Belle was working in the maternity ward and she said she saw your name on the board when she was headed to the break room up here.  What happened?”

Nottingham stood up with a succinct “I’ll get right on this,” before he took his leave.  Emma didn’t hold out hope that it was going to be the first priority on his already overflowing desk.

She turned her attention to David and glared.  “What are you doing here?  You should be with Mary Margaret.  How is she?”

David came closer until he was standing against the side of her bed, made and kept eye contact with her, and reached his hand out slowly so as to telegraph his intentions.  The tips of his fingers grasped her chin and tilted her head so he could see the bruises better.

“The doctor says it’s still going to be a while and Mary Margaret insisted I come check on you.  Right now she scares me more than you do.  So, please, tell me what happened?”

Emma smiled slightly as she endured her friend’s examination.  Quietly, she told him what had happened, ducking her head when she told him about losing Michael.  The chill that coursed through her as she mentioned her anonymous rescuer surprised her, but she was more concerned with getting the story out as quickly as possible and getting David back to his wife.

She wouldn’t deny that the squeeze to her shoulder and the hand that held hers as David listened was a balm to her soul.

“They’ll find him, Emma.  I’ll talk to Graham and see what he thinks.  Michael’s a tough kid.”  David leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead before admonishing her to get some sleep.

She responded by shooing him out of her room and back to his wife with instructions to tell her that Emma was _fine_ and she would stop by later to see them both before heading home.  Hopefully, she’d get to see all _three_ of them.

It took most of the day, but after another round of tests and more poking about than Emma thought was strictly necessary, she was released and _was_ able to meet David and Mary Margaret’s son before she headed out.  At home later that evening, curled in the plush armchair and staring at a picture on her cell phone of the little Nolan prince squalling his lungs out to tell the world of his presence, Emma gave herself a moment to fall apart at the thought she’d almost been killed and Michael was gone.  

She _only_ allowed herself a minute to let the tears fall and dampen the blanket she was clutching to her chest before she took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks dry.  This wasn’t the first frightening experience she had survived, and her fear now needed to be for the boy she wasn’t able to help when he begged her to do just that - not for her own fright.  Emma took a deep breath and folded up the blanket with her name embroidered so carefully into the white fabric, trying not to let _those_ feelings bubble to the surface as she laid the blanket tenderly over the back of the chair.

Emma took a moment to gaze out over the skyline then trudged into the bathroom.  She hoped that a long, hot bath would temporarily erase the image of Michael’s terrified face that burned the back of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes.

The scent of the candles and the warmth of the water was soothing to her abused muscles, but neither did anything to calm the harried thoughts that raced over and over until she was lost in the storm.

It felt like mere moments later when she was startled out of replaying every last detail of Michael’s abduction by the shrill wailing of her smoke alarm.  The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, overpowering the candles, and Emma reached for her dirty clothes to redress sloppily before she was fully aware of what she was doing.  Pulling her hair back into a hasty bun, Emma saw the flickering of light under the door to the hall and crept towards it to see if she could get out that way.

Emma let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when the doorknob was only slightly warm.  She still had a chance to make it out.  When she looked across the hall, her bedroom – and the way to the fire escape – was engulfed in flames.  Without a minute to waste, Emma grabbed a pair of boots out of the hall closet and turned for the front door.

The crackling of the blaze sent her already rapidly beating heart to a skyrocketing pace as adrenaline gripped her.  She found herself entranced by the sight of the flames cascading up the walls and licking the ceiling, her rug scorched beyond recognition in its wake  A crash shook her from her momentary stupor as one of Mary Margaret’s paintings fell to the ground next to her feet.  Jumping away from the burning canvas, Emma bit back a yelp and took two steps forward before being halted by flames once more.  She wanted, no she _needed_ to get to the living room to retrieve her blanket.  Silly as it might be to think of it in what was quickly proving to be a life or death situation, that soft blanket was the only proof in the world that someone had cared for her as an infant.

Before Emma could track out a path towards her armchair and the relative safety of the windows where nothing seemed to be burning against the cool glass, there was another crash.  This time it came from the other side of the kitchen, from the apartment’s entrance.

There were two eyes staring at her over the barrel of the gun that was trained on her from the now demolished front door.  Emma’s first instinct was to step back towards the safety of her bedroom, but the heat of flames at her back halted that movement.  To her surprise, the gun dropped to the man’s side and it was only then that she could focus on his face.  Far from some unknown attacker, it seemed that her mysterious savior from the alley had stalked her to her apartment.  Emma wished she were in her bedroom where she kept her pistol.

“Who the hell _are_ you?”


	5. The Hero Complex

 

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

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Killian would easily characterize himself as a patient man – one didn’t become successful in his field of work without doing so – but returning to the hospital for the third time in less than twenty four hours was testing that classification.  He skirted the security desk again, silently questioning the level of protection actually afforded to the patients and staff in places like this, and blended in with other visitors headed for the maternity ward.  There were two women at risk in the hospital because of the Golds, but at least he was certain where one of them was and that she was safe.

Or so he thought.

The room that had housed Pan’s “daughter” Celine was the sight of a lovely, happy couple welcoming twins to their already large family.  When Killian asked the duty nurse about the room’s former patient, spinning a tale about how he had just landed at Logan but hadn’t been able to reach his uncle for his cousin’s room number, he learned that she and her father had taken her newborn daughter home a few hours earlier.  The woman didn’t say anything else, but he could tell from the tone that it hadn’t been the hospital’s idea to release them so quickly.

Killian turned back to the elevator, cursing himself for not calling in a colleague to watch over the girl like he’d considered.  In the spur of the moment after leaving Emma to the EMT’s, he had decided against the surveillance because he’d been positive that Malcolm Gold would want to avoid a scene and wouldn’t come back for the girl and the child so soon.  He had counted on the girl putting up a fight if someone tried to take her or her newborn baby away from the safety of doctors, nurses, and the security of the hospital.  He had counted on her taking the safe way out.  However, he’d apparently underestimated Malcolm, again, and the hold he had over others.

Killian felt his temper flare and he couldn’t help thinking that with Celine and her daughter falling back into enemy hands, the tally from the last day alone was up to three lives taken under his watch.  Three poor wretches were clutched in Rumplestiltskin’s grasp and each one weighed heavily on him.  He didn’t have to try too hard to imagine their accusing glares fading into resignation and then nothing at all.  

Broken.  Lost.  Because of him.  

That didn’t even take into account Somalia or all of the lives that had been destroyed while Killian dithered about with no leads.  He _had_ to get to Emma and make sure she was safe.  Any more lives on his conscience would bow his shoulders irreparably and make chasing Pan and Rumplestiltskin that much more arduous.  

Killian clenched his jaw until he felt his teeth grind together.

The punch he threw in the hallway shattered the wallboard rather than his hand – small favors – but it also did little to quell the self-loathing that flooded through him.  The sharp pain of bruised knuckles did, however, refocus his efforts to protect the one person left free of Malcolm Gold’s grip.  He had to do _better_ to keep this Emma Swan safe.

A glance down at his brother’s scrawl gave him the room number he needed to head to next.  He had just rounded the corner back to the elevators when he was almost run over by yet another happy family cooing over an infant.  He stepped out of their way with an apologetic smile that was briefly - if distractedly - returned.  The couple slowly ambled back and forth down the hallway as they, too, waited for the chime of the elevator.  Old habits directed his hearing towards their conversation.

“Do you think they really released Emma or do you think she just checked herself out again?”  The woman was staring down at the sleeping newborn with a serene grin, but the question was directed at the man next to her.

The blond man beamed at the baby, reaching out a finger to brush the infant’s cheek.  His other arm wrapped protectively around the woman’s back.  “Have you ever known Emma ‘I save myself’ Swan to let something as trivial as someone trying to hurt her keep her in the hospital longer than _she_ thinks she needs?  Don’t worry.  She seemed fine, Mary Margaret.  I’ll count it as a win if she goes home and rests instead of marching right down to Graham’s precinct and getting in his face until she forces him and Keith to find Michael.”

Killian didn’t wait for the woman to reply, just aborted his plan to head to the next room on his list and punched the down button instead.  He had been willing to believe that the Emma the woman asked about was a different woman than the one he was looking for, but the man’s use of her full name and mention of a missing boy had him rushing out of the building.  The faster he got back to the SUV, the faster he could get to Emma’s apartment.  

He had a bad feeling about how quickly Pan was moving to clean up his mess since he hadn’t cut his losses with Celine and her child.  Annoyed that he had wasted so much time fruitlessly, Killian ignored the voice in his head that reminded him he’d had no choice but to clear the hospital first.  It sounded distinctly like Liam.

The sense of unease that had developed as Killian had searched the hospital intensified as he raced across the city towards Emma’s apartment complex.  He cursed out the traffic and the pedestrians, the stoplights and the turns that caused him to slow down from his borderline reckless speed.  It felt like an eternity before he got to the address on Liam’s note, and he scarcely avoided clipping two cars as he threw the SUV into a roadside parking space.  

Barely taking a moment to check that his gun was fully loaded before stashing a _third_ magazine into a cargo pocket from his glove box, Killian stepped out of the car and let the adrenaline from the drive dissipate.  With the way his day had been going, he had half expected to arrive at the apartment complex to the tune of ambulance or police sirens.  Now that he was here and there was no sign of a commotion, he could afford to do a little surveillance.

He eyed the building from across the street, pleased to see that there was a security camera at the front door and a keypad that limited access.  He’d need a closer look, but Killian was sure it was an easy enough system to bypass.  At least it meant that whoever Malcolm sent after the woman would be momentarily waylaid.

That is, if they hadn’t already been here.

It seemed that his luck on that matter hadn’t held out.  

“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath.  

Killian caught a glimpse of short, messy blond hair attached to a face he knew all too well reclining against a telephone pole.  The young man was staring up at Emma Swan’s apartment building with a smirk.  He recognized Felix from their various run-ins over the past five years, and backtracked around the corner before he could be seen.  If Killian could get ahold of _this_ target, then most of his problems would be solved - or at least they would be delayed while Pan had to either regroup or risk coming back out into the open to take care of Emma himself.  Losing Felix would strike a significant blow to the hierarchy of Rumplestiltskin’s organization and the ensuing restructuring that would occur could guarantee Emma’s safety for the near future.  

Not to mention, the intelligence that the interrogators at JR Solutions could obtain from Felix would be well worth the exposure Killian risked in executing a snatch and grab within sight of security cameras.  

Circling around the block was risky as he would lose sight of his target, but there was no simple way to sneak up on Felix from this far away.  Killian blessed the first stroke of luck he was granted when his mark was still loitering casually on the street corner moments later, eyes glued to the building across the street.

Now in a much more strategic position behind Felix, Killian pulled his weapon and thumbed off the safety.  Slinking through the shadows to broach the last few feet to his target, he hoped to subdue the young man quietly, but he was prepared for any eventuality.  He wasn’t going to botch a job twice in twenty-four hours.

“Killian Jones, can’t say as I’m surprised to see you here.”  a smooth voice stopped him in his tracks.  Thrown for only an instant at Felix’s calm acceptance of his stealthy approach, Killian relied on his training to take over.  He sighted down the muzzle of his gun, aiming at the back of the man’s right shoulder.  If Felix reached for a weapon, Killian could easily disarm him.

The young man slowly angled his head so he was looking over his shoulder.  He seemed unperturbed by the pistol that was currently aimed at him.

“Felix Panderson.  I could say the same about you.”  If the younger man was going to project an air of familiarity, then Killian would match it.  He had read enough reports about the man and traded blows and insults enough times to feel like they knew each other intimately.

The young man stood upright, finally turned to fully face his adversary, and balanced on the balls of his feet with his right foot slightly back to steady him.  Killian noticed the wide stance; Felix was ready for a fight.  All of the frustration from the last few days – Liam keeping things from him, the failures that led to the boy’s kidnapping, and the tedious searches – surged to the forefront and Killian was tempted to holster his weapon and oblige him.

But allowing himself to be drawn into fisticuffs with his target was a risky move, and one that he was unwilling to make at the moment.  The younger man would likely see it as a game and Killian wasn’t in any mood to play games.  He readjusted the grip on his weapon to draw Felix’s attention to it.

“I heard you have a tendency to arrive too late to play the hero, don’t you, Jones?  I think you _like_ adding to the body count.  We’ve been happy to oblige you there, even if it cost us some of our product over the years.  With all the idiots in this world, the supply outweighs our demand.  It’s always been worth it to keep you guessing.”  

Killian fought to keep his face blank, fought to keep a lid on his memories, but Felix continued - twisting the knife just a little bit more.  “What was that kid’s name in Somalia?  Tom or Shawn or something?  I forget.  There were so many, you know.  But I heard he screamed bloody murder, crying and begging for some lieutenant to come and save him while they were toying with him.  That was you, wasn’t it?  Wish I could have seen the look in his eyes when he kept screaming for you and _you weren’t there_.  Poor kid _never_ figured out why you weren’t coming.”  

Felix rocked back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets and adopting a maniacal grin.  “Wouldn’t want that to happen again with the woman up there, now would we?”

Killian’s finger twitched towards the trigger.  It would be so easy.

But it wouldn’t be good form.  Felix didn’t seem to be armed and he wasn’t going to shoot an unarmed man.  And besides, he had to remind himself as his trigger finger settled along the barrel of the gun again, they needed him _alive_ and he would be more cooperative without unnecessary holes in his body.

“Come on, Jones.  Am I really more important than saving the girl?”  He cocked his head to the side before leaning back against the pole again.  His shoulders shrugged nonchalantly.  

“We both know you have to play by the rules, and you’re running out of time.”  Felix paused, grinning even more sadistically.  “So, me or her?”

Killian was tempted to ignore the taunts, intent on taking control of the situation out of his enemy’s hands.  Something in Felix’s demeanor, however, had him racing to the building instead of shooting the smug nuisance somewhere painful - but manageable - and dragging Pan’s right hand man to the holding cell at the office.

Circumventing the keypad access point was thankfully as simple as he had thought it would be on his first inspection, and a closer look at the camera above his head revealed that Felix had undoubtedly been inside already.  Black spray paint colored the area around the camera’s lens.  He almost rolled his eyes at the amateur work, but it made his job easier.  Killian spared a moment to glance back at Felix, surprised to see the man still observing one of the upper floors.  It seemed Pan’s cleaner liked watching his work play out.

Killian took the stairs two at a time, partially hoping he was simply going to have to convince Emma that he was looking out for her and wasn't just some lunatic stalking her.  Having time to craft a long and drawn out argument for why she should follow him to one of Liam’s safe houses would be the best case scenario.  The more realistic side of him realized that he was likely walking into a crisis of some kind.

The smell of smoke assaulted his nostrils as he stepped onto the twelfth floor and Killian cursed his rotten luck.  

Realistic won out again.

He dialed 911 as he rushed to apartment 1205.  There were plenty of situations he could control, plenty of training to rely on when things didn’t go his way – but a fire wasn’t one of those things he could handle alone.  He could hear the alarm inside another apartment going off, but the ones in the hall were silent.  Clearly, Felix had meant to delay aid for as long as possible.  This also meant that Emma wasn’t the only one in danger.  Felix had assured that there would be enough collateral damage to waylay Killian.  

He hardly spared a thought for the random designs that decorated each apartment’s door on the floor as he barreled down the hall, banging on each one as he went.  Now wasn’t the time for stealth or finesse.  Now was the time to – as Liam would say – play the dashing hero.

When he reached 1205, Killian didn’t waste any more time.  Instead, he rammed his shoulder into Swan’s door, hard, resolutely ignoring the sharp spike of pain. He subconsciously registered the splintering of the doorframe as he choked on the acrid smoke that poured into the hallway.  He pulled his shirt up over his nose to block some of the dangerous fumes.  A bright orange glow reflected in his eyes and sent his heart rate skyrocketing.  He’d known that the apartment was going to be on fire, but seeing it was something completely different.  Instinctual fear gripped him when he registered the height of the flames that were engulfing the apartment.  Killian pushed past the natural response to flee and stepped into the kitchen.

Gun raised and wary of any of Felix’s companions who may be lying in wait as insurance, Killian stopped in his tracks and sighted down the barrel at the first sign of movement.  Shocked and somewhat frantic green eyes met his own and Emma Swan took two steps back before the flames coming out of what may have been a bedroom stopped her in her tracks.  As soon as he recognized friend and not foe, his weapon dropped to his side.  He watched as her eyes darted towards the flames at her back, clearly searching for something.  Unable to get to what she was looking for in the blaze, the woman raised her fists and glared at him instead.

“Who the hell _are_ you?”

Sparing a grin for the fight in her, Killian made a show of holstering the weapon, ignoring the deer in the headlights look that morphed into a steely determination.  He was impressed.  He had learned under drill instructors who couldn’t manage a look that fierce.  But it had been a long time since his early days at the Naval College, and the look did little to deter him now.

He didn't have time to worry about frightening her, and explaining who he was would take longer than the time this conflagration afforded to them.

“I’m not going to hurt you.  I just want to get you out of here.”  Killian pitched his voice soft enough to calm the agitated look in her eyes, but loud enough to be heard over the crackling of burning wood.  He walked forward purposefully, keeping his hands up and open.

Emma set her feet in nearly the same defensive stance Felix had adopted outside, even as her eyes darted around for another path of escape.  The flames surrounding them limited her options, and Killian could see how heavily skewed towards “fight” her adrenaline was pushing her.  They had no time to waste, however, so he kept moving forwards.

Killian ducked the punch aimed at his jaw.  Clearly, she wasn’t going to take her chances with him.  Part of him admired her resolve.  The rest of him was painfully aware of the severe lack of time they had to get out of the apartment.  Foregoing the gentle route, he grabbed her arm roughly and started dragging her towards the door and safety.  He could argue the particulars of why she didn’t need to rearrange his face when they were out of danger.  “We need to get out of here, lass.”

Predictably, Emma balked at this and tore her hand free of his grasp.  Killian turned again, expecting to duck another punch or have to chase after her again.  What he didn't expect was for the woman to break away from him and step further _into_ the living room - away from any known means of escape and past a wall of flames.

He lost sight of her for a moment, and his heart leapt into his throat.  What in God’s name did she hope to accomplish by trapping herself amidst the fire?

The heat of the flames kept him from following her, and he moved towards the door with his eyes trained on where he could hear her movements.  When he finally caught sight of her again, she was moving with purpose, ignoring him completely.  He wondered briefly if she kept a weapon that she was searching for, or if she intended to break a window and escape him that way.  The fire safety training he had been given at school told him that would be a poor choice as it would draw the flames towards her.  Never mind that the fall would kill her far sooner than he would.

Killian watched, stunned, as she pranced around the flames that were licking at parts of the floor.  The momentary surprise stupefied him, but Killian soon regained his voice.  "What the bloody hell are you _doing_?"

Emma disregarded his question, stepping around packing boxes and moving towards the respite that the floor to ceiling windows provided from the heat of the fire.  "Emma, lass..."

That got a quick look of surprise before the woman in question moved even further into the room.  So she could hear him, he mused.  She was just ignoring him.

“Just hold on.  Give me a minute.”  Emma didn't look up from where she was stepping.  “I need to get something.  I won't leave it behind.”

There wasn’t a single _thing_ on this Earth that Killian could think of that was important enough to risk his life for.  People, ideals, sure – he wouldn’t be in this line of work if he wasn’t willing to put it all on the line.  But the infuriating woman he was trying to save – _trying_ to risk his life for – had said “it”.  He started to wonder about Emma’s mental state as she seemed thoroughly unfazed by the flames licking at the furniture.

Killian started to cough from the smoke and took a few steps towards the door.  He began to contemplate the balance of the risk to his soul if he left her over the risk to his person if he tried to move further into the flames to manhandle her out the door.  Liam had raised him to never leave a man behind, but his brother had already planned his funeral once.

He had no desire to put Liam through that ever again.

Killian breathed a sigh of relief when Emma grabbed something from a chair by the windows and turned to him with a grin.  “I’ve got it!”

“It” was a blanket of some kind – he assumed from what he could see of the fabric – and his jaw dropped at the seemingly innocuous object.  He was about to quip a sarcastic retort when the grin dropped from her face and the words died on his lips.

There was a thunderous crack that deafened him and Killian watched helplessly as a support beam from the ceiling swung down and Emma disappeared behind a wall of sparks.  The flames grew as they fed on the wood and forced him backwards.  His eyes were frantic as he searched through the flames for any sign of Emma.  Oranges and yellows assaulted his eyes and the smoke made tears track down his cheeks, but he couldn’t look away.  “Emma!  Emma, can you hear me?”

The sound of coughing and groaning was the most beautiful thing he had heard all evening.  He tracked the sound to a particularly terrifying batch of flames and stepped forward on instinct, but the heat drove him back again until he was stopped by the island in the kitchen.  He called out to her again, desperate to catch a glimpse of blonde hair or the white sweater she had been wearing.

The curses that came from her disembodied voice were almost as good.  There was no hint of pain – just fear and anger all rolled up in determination.  It brought a smile to his face even as he realized that unless the fire department got there soon or the flames died down, Emma was trapped a few inches from a thin layer of glass that kept her from a long fall to the pavement and the heat of Felix’s attempts to get rid of her.

Killian would be damned before he would let Felix erase this woman just to clean up Pan’s mess.  He’d be damned if he let any harm come to Emma before he could even properly introduce himself.  “Emma!”  

He wouldn’t allow her to become another one of Pan’s victims.  

He couldn’t.

He began searching for anything that could help.  Turning away from where he had last heard her was difficult, but he tore open cabinets and opened drawers as he searched the kitchen for a bucket, a blanket, or a fire extinguisher.  Anything that could help him beat down the flames and give her an escape route.

There was nothing.  

Tearing his leather jacket from his shoulders, Killian began smacking out the closest of the flames, ignoring the futility when fire was raging all around him.  If he could just make a small path, he could accomplish something. It was a haunting sight, watching the dance of the flames as the fire devoured whatever was in its path.  A quote from a movie flitted half-remembered through his head, but the phrase stuck in his mind even as he battered the distracting thought away.  Fire was a living thing.  Watching it battle against his efforts now, Killian could believe it.

Then he heard the glass shattering in the heat.  Emma was running out of time.

The influx of oxygen into the apartment through the windows fueled the fire and drew the flames towards where he had last seen Emma.  

She cried out, this time in terror, and it pulled at Killian’s heart.  From what little he had seen of her, this was a woman who was unlikely to voice her fears.  He redoubled his efforts to find a path to her side, ignoring the burning of the muscles in his arms as he slapped the leather against the ground again.  The heat of the room was stifling, stealing away the very oxygen in his lungs and making the process that much more difficult.  He welcomed the trickle of sweat down his back as it was his only relief from the heat.  And still, he moved slowly forward, fighting the living flames as he went.

The cracking of more support beams shot fear straight through him.  They were dancing a fine line, and only the occasional cough from the other side of the fire kept him from beating a hasty retreat through the dwindling path to the open front door.  He knew it had only been minutes since he had spoken with the emergency dispatcher, but he was desperate to see the turnout gear of firefighters bursting through that door.

“Help me!  Please!”  Emma’s panicked voice cut through his momentary lapse.  

Not knowing what else to do, Killian called back to reassure her.  “I’m here, lass.  I’m coming.”

The flames seemed to hear him and flared up in response.  If he didn’t know any better, he would have been sure that they were taunting him as Felix had earlier – _she’s ours and you can’t save her_.

He’d be damned if he was going to let something that wasn’t even technically _alive_ win – even something as dangerous as this fire.

Just as he was about to risk jumping through the increasing number of flames to save her from the inferno, Emma appeared from behind the wall of flames and dashed past him towards the front door.  Seems he had waited too long and she managed to save herself.

The quick exit the woman made left him frozen for a moment, still wondering exactly what had happened.  When Killian finally broke free of his disbelief a moment later, Emma was already out in the hall, leaning against the opposite wall and coughing into the bundle of white fabric.  There were trails of tears through the soot on her cheeks as she glared at him over the blanket.  Killian could just see purple ribbon looping around one corner that she clutched to her chest.

"Well," Emma finally found her voice.  "Are you coming out of there or did you _want_ to burn to a crisp?"

_That_ did nothing to get him moving as his jaw dropped in utter disbelief.  Killian blinked stupidly at her for another moment before reality – and the increasing threat of fire at his back – sent him scurrying from the apartment.  The woman had just cheated death, leapt through a wall of flame like some kind of avenging angel, and she still had the wherewithal to utter a sarcastic quip.  

And just for that, Killian thought he was half in love with her.

 


	6. ...and Into the Fire

 

 

 

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

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Emma knew that going back for her blanket was one of the _Top Ten Dumbest Things TM_ she could have done in that moment.  It may have even made the top five.  But there was an armed man who had just broken into her home who she was only pretty sure didn’t mean to hurt her, there were flames _everywhere_ , and the only thing that she knew was that she couldn’t leave that blanket behind.  It was probably stupid, and definitely stupidly sentimental, but it was the only thing in this world that proved to her that, once upon a time, someone had cared enough about her to give her a name and a soft blanket to keep her warm.  Those may have been the only kind things they did for her, but at least they did _something_ before they abandoned her like garbage.  That blanket with her name stitched on it was what she had held onto on those long cold nights when she was positive that there wasn’t a soul in the world that cared if she lived or died.  

That she had _ever_ lived.

So she ripped her hand away from the stranger trying to lead her out of danger and leapt both feet first into the fiery mess of her living room.

The flames made it difficult, to say the least, to navigate the clutter she normally ignored.  In the background, she could hear the man calling to her, but it wasn’t until he used her name that his words registered.  

How did he know who she was?  

Who was _he_?  

What on earth was he doing here?

“Just hold on,” she called out in annoyance to stop him from distracting her further.  “Give me a minute, I need to get something.  I won't leave it behind.”

Assured of her path, Emma trained her eyes on the blanket thrown over the back of her armchair.  Thankfully, it seemed as though the coolness of the windows were keeping the flames somewhat at bay and there was an open patch of floor between her and the chair.  It took her only a minute to grab the fabric, and she couldn’t help burying her face in it for an instant.  It smelled like home – though Emma couldn’t equate the smell with anything other than that soft woolen yarn.

The smell settled her in a way that few other things could, and despite the fire that raged around her, Emma grinned.  Meeting the eyes of the man she hoped meant her no harm, she exclaimed, “I’ve got it!”

Emma could see that he didn’t understand.  She didn’t really expect him to, but before he could fully express whatever crossed his mind at the sheer insanity of what she had done, her ears rang as a piece of the ceiling crashed to the floor in front of her.

Emma stumbled backwards, tripped over some debris, and landed painfully - but still upright - against the partition between the window panes.  One hand continued to clutch her blanket protectively to her chest while the other splayed out against the cool glass.

Flames shot up from the timber at her feet as her knees buckled under the weight of the close call.  She had just been standing _right there_.  Emma allowed herself a moment to sink to her haunches, burying her face in the fabric so she could just breathe.

“Emma!  Emma, can you hear me?”

His frantic voice reminded Emma of the imminent danger, and she took a deep breath.  The smoke and dry heat assaulted her lungs and she coughed violently until her throat was sore.  Groaning as she fought to control her breathing, Emma finally got her feet under her and started to look for a path back to the door.

All she could see was orange.

“Emma!” the man called out to her again, and he sounded closer this time.  

She was running out of time and her patience was taking off with it.  Helpless to do anything else, she let out a string of curses that would make Mary Margaret’s ears turn red.  It didn’t help anything, but it sure made her feel better.

Emma lifted the neck of her sweater over her mouth and nose to filter out some of the smoke and calm her breathing.  She clutched the blanket into an even smaller ball, desperate to protect it from the flames.  She danced with the fire for a moment, waltzing two steps away from the windows before the beast led again, driving her back to the relative safety of the glass.  She continued the dance for what felt like an eternity, trying to find some path through to safety.  The noise around her picked up as the fire devoured more of her apartment.  Briefly, she thought she heard banging from the other side of the wall of fire, but she couldn’t be sure of what it was.  Emma hoped it was her would-be rescuer doing something to try to save her and that it wasn’t the sound of the floor collapsing underneath her feet.

Then Emma heard an unmistakable noise.  Her head whipped to the side just in time to see the last remnants of the windows behind her falling to the sidewalk far below.  She gulped.  As many times as she had stared out of these windows before, she had never truly let herself contemplate just how far down that fall would be.  Emma turned back to the center of the room, determined not to dwell on the height of her apartment.  

When the fire moved straight for her, she couldn’t help it.

She screamed.  

The flames seemed to reach out and grab at her, determined to draw her into their grasp and devour her.  She hit the floor and curled into the smallest ball she could manage, praying to anyone who would listen to spare her.

More support beams started to crack above her and tears came to her eyes unbidden.  Her heart was racing and she couldn’t force herself to move, even as the sparks from the falling wood stung her face.  

“Help me!  Please!”  Panicked, she pleaded with her unknown savior, hoping he was still there and hadn’t done the smart thing and took off for safer pastures.  Everyone who had ever claimed to love her left her behind.  This man, this _stranger_ , owed her nothing.  So why shouldn’t he leave her, too?

She expected to be met with nothing but the sound of the fire raging around her.

She didn’t expect to hear his voice, calm and steady against the storm of emotions rattling her.  “I’m here, lass.  I’m coming.”

Panic gave way to the relief.  Whoever he was, he he hadn’t left her after all.  She breathed deeply into the crook of her arm, and the racing of her heart slowed considerably.

When the heat of the flames above her lessened and she realized she wasn’t a crispy critter, she took control of her frenetic emotions once again, stuffing them haphazardly into a corner of her heart and admonishing them harshly to _stay_.  She stood up shakily as soon as the heat died down enough and looked around.

There was nothing but flames.

Emma took another moment to orient herself.  She was running out of time and she knew it.  Her options were to either let the flames take her, fall out the window and let the fall take her, or take her chances running to safety.

A million things could go wrong.

She could trip, something could fall on her, or the floor could give out.

A million things.

And yet, if she stayed still any longer, it wouldn’t make a difference whether or not any of those things happened.  She would have let the fire win, and that wasn’t a choice Emma was willing to make.  Hugging her baby blanket to her chest once more, she hoped that they would both make it out.  She thought about using the fabric to shield her, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to do it.  She had put herself in danger for this very blanket, to sacrifice it now would tear at her in ways she couldn’t contemplate.

Emma took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, leapt forward, and ran for the front door as fast as she could manage.

She didn’t stop until her shoulder collided painfully with the neighbor’s door.  Her blanket was a little bit sooty, but it was intact and so was she.  Emma could do no more than pull it to her face and cough frantically into it, trying to keep the sobs at bay.  Her whole body shook with a potent combination of fear, adrenaline, and relief.

It took her a moment to remember the man in her apartment, and when she looked up, she fully expected him to be laughing at her for the sentimentality or pointing his weapon at her again.  She really had no idea what he was doing there.

She didn’t expect the idiot to still be standing amidst the flames, staring at her with an incredulous look on his face.  Didn’t he realize the danger he was in?

She wanted to say so many things – _ask_ so many things.  But what came out of her mouth was the last thing on her mind.  “Well, are you coming out of there or did you want to burn to a crisp?”

His jaw dropped comically, but at least he seemed to finally realize the severity of the situation, making a quick dash to her side with an odd look on his face.  Emma couldn’t place the look, exactly, and she was too concerned with what his next move would be to dwell on it.  Noble savior or not, the man had broken into her apartment – with a _gun_ no less.  While she didn’t think he would have stuck around to pull her out if he had set the fire, it was still a little bit too coincidental for Emma’s taste.

Able to breathe easy again, and steadier on her feet now that there was oxygen flowing to her muscles, Emma’s adrenaline spiked once more.  She dropped the blanket and raised her fists.  “Who the hell are you?”

The man smirked at her, unconcerned at her aggressive stance, and reached down to pluck the knitted material from the floor.  She eyed him warily as he ran a hand along the stitching of her name.  It took everything in her not to snatch her blanket out of his grip.  It could give him an opening to grab _her_ , instead.  To her surprise, however, he took his time folding her blanket gently.  Then, he held it out to her with a raised eyebrow.  “Seems a shame to go to all that trouble just to throw this around, now, lass.”

The jerk was making _fun of her_.

Emma tore the blanket from his outstretched fingers with a growl, holding it close to her chest with one hand while the other remained clenched in front of her like a shield.

“Name’s Killian Jones, but I think a longer explanation will have to wait for someplace a bit safer, yeah?”  He gestured back towards the burning apartment with a nod of his head before sweeping his hand out in front of him.

Emma glared.  “If you think I’m going _anywhere_ with you, buddy, you’ve got another think coming.”

She marched down the hall to the stairs without a second glance.

* * *

The cracking of the flames in the apartment finally drew him out of his daze just in time to watch the stairwell door shut behind Emma.  Killian stared after her for a moment, caught up in the thought that she left him reeling more times than anyone he knew, and he’d barely exchanged more than a handful of sentences with her.  He had just risked his life to save her and her response was patent distrust?  Killian had been prepared to have to convince her of his sincerity, but that was before he had thrown himself into a raging conflagration to assure her safety.  There was nothing in what he had seen the other night or just recently to make him think she’d act the part of a swooning damsel, but still.  

He was tempted to let her go, stalk to the other end of the hall and disappear into the night.  

Get back on track.  

But he hadn’t forgotten why he was there in the first place.  Emma may have made it out of her apartment mostly unscathed, but she wasn’t out of danger yet.  Felix’s smug grin filled his thoughts and the taunts echoed in Killian’s ears. _I heard you have a tendency to arrive too late to play the hero, don’t you, Jones?  I think you_ like _adding to the body count._

Felix was waiting outside the building to make sure he’d finished the job, and Emma was walking right into his line of fire.

Killian cursed the building’s ancient fire suppression system as it _finally_ registered the heat spilling into the hallway and soaked him to the bone with disgusting smelling water.  Gracing the sprinkler above him with a baleful glare, he took off at a sprint, hoping his momentary lapse in concentration hadn’t given Felix another shot at finishing his job.

Killian ran into the stairwell just in time to see her disappear a full floor below him.  Afraid to call out to her in case Felix had come to check his work, he leapt down the stairs two at a time.  A thought crossed his mind, briefly, wondering if the rest of the residents were aware that they needed to evacuate.  But his mission was to protect Emma – the fire department would see to the rest of them.

Killian finally caught up to Emma just before she bolted out onto the ground floor.  Already preparing himself for the punch he knew was coming, Killian reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging Emma back and crowding her against the wall behind the door.

When her fist connected with his jaw, Killian grunted but didn’t let go.  He pinned her free hand against her hip before she could take another swing.  “For the love of God, woman, if I wanted to hurt you, I’d have left you in that bloody apartment.  I’m trying to help you.”

Emma fought even harder to get away from him, twisting and kicking.  The knee that was aimed between his legs was only barely deflected, and Killian swore he could already feel the bruise forming on the inside of his thigh.  He bit his tongue and resisted the urge to bow against the pain as his grip tightened on both Emma’s wrists.

“In case you’ve forgotten, _Killian Jones_ ,” she spat his name back at him, “there was a rather large fire eating its way through my living room up there.  I’d like to leave the building in a calm and collected manner now, thank you very much.”  

She pointed with her chin to an “In Case of Emergency” placard on the wall next to her head, parroting its words.

Killian returned her snark with some of his own wit, letting some of his frustration bleed through.

“Awful curious, that fire.  Started on its own, did it?”  He cocked an eyebrow at her, leaning in closer to take away some of her leverage.  “Maybe you left the stove on?  Old circuits or faulty wiring maybe?  You don’t seem the type to live in a building that would ignore fire codes.  Odd that there still aren’t any fire alarms going off, isn’t it?”  

Killian was getting annoyed as she kept struggling.  She needed to _listen_ to him.

She wasn’t safe.

It took a moment for his words to filter through.  He felt as Emma relaxed marginally.  Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but otherwise the fight had gone out of her.  

Her voice was small when she finally asked, “What?”

Killian was struck by the sudden need to be gentle with her.  He relaxed his grip and softened his voice.

“You made enemies last night, lass.  Whether you meant to, or not.  So if you walk out that door alone right now, it might be the last thing you do.”  He shrugged.  “But if you’d prefer to take your chances with the fiend waiting for you out there rather than me, be my guest.”  

Killian sighed and let her go slowly, his eyes zeroed in on her fists as they rose automatically.  He had no desire to add to the bruises she’d already painted on his skin.  To his relief, however, she eyed the door but made no move to make a break for it.

“Look, Emma…”

“And that’s another thing,” she interrupted him as she took a step away from his figure.  He was pleased to see the spark coming back to her eyes.  “I don’t know you, how do you know my name?”

“Your boy,” Killian ducked his head, looking apologetic.  “I heard him call out to you last night before Gold took him.”

Emma punched him in the jaw, again.  This time it sent him stumbling backwards, landing heavily on the stairs.

“That was _you_!”  She didn’t continue, choosing to stalk angrily back and forth in front of him, muttering.

Killian raised a hand to cup the throbbing skin just under his cheek.  He’d wanted to bring back the fire in her, but the see-saw in her emotions was giving _him_ whiplash.  “Not a particular way I’ve used to say ‘thank you’ before.  You’re welcome, by the way.”

She turned and pointed a finger at him.  “Thank you?  For losing Michael?  For stalking me?  For breaking into my apartment?  For manhandling me more than once?  You’re lucky I _only_ punched you in the face.”

Killian practically leapt to his feet.  He was truly angry now.  “How about for saving your life twice?  What do you think I was doing here tonight, taking a stroll for my health?”

“Twice!  I’ll have you know, buddy, the only one who saves me is me.  Last thing I remember from last night, you were arguing with the bastard who took Michael and then I woke up alone and everyone was gone.  And I’m pretty sure that you standing in my apartment doesn’t count as saving me either.”

Killian gaped at her before he forced his annoyance back to a professional level.  His jaw clenched as he wrestled with his emotions.  He had forgotten in the past few minutes that he was here to do a job and nothing more.  The fire that was raging above them and the cleaner who was assuredly lying in wait for them – he had no illusions that Felix would let him leave the building unscathed with or without the Swan girl – were his priority at the moment.  What Emma _thought of him_ was irrelevant.

“Regardless of what you think of me, lass, I came here to help you.  There is a man out this door who is intent on making sure you cannot identify his employer.  Is there another exit we could use?”

It was Emma’s turn to gape.  “What?  That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

Killian just shook his head.  There were days that he wished he had that kind of naïveté, still.

Thankfully, she started moving towards the door marked “basement” without further argument, and Killian followed her down to what must have been extra storage space for the building’s tenants.  He spied a door at the far end of the lockers and hurried Emma towards it.  To her credit, she only balked for a moment when he drew his gun from its holster.

Stepping up to the door, he motioned her behind him and turned the handle slowly, wincing at the cacophony the metal made as it screeched against concrete outside.

_PING! PING!_

Two bullets clanged off the metal door just inches above where he was crouched.

“Bloody hell!” Killian cursed when he tried to shut the door again only to find it caught on something and holding fast.  Abandoning the attempt to put a locked barrier between them and their assailant, he forcibly moved them both to the wall next to the door.  Training his gun on the opening, he risked a glance at Emma.  Her eyes were wide and locked on the dents the bullets had left behind.  “Are you all right, lass?”

Emma nodded absently, her eyes slowly sweeping down to meet his gaze.  “Are _you_?”  She made no attempt to hide her perusal of his body, but Killian had a feeling she was looking for blood rather than appreciating the hours he spent in JR Solutions’ weight room.  Unwilling to trust that she was unharmed based solely on one distracted nod, he completed his own visual inspection to assure himself that she hadn’t been hit by a ricochet before answering.

“Aye.  It seems we’re going to have a bit more difficulty getting you to safety than I anticipated.”  The glimpse of the shooter that he’d been afforded before diving back to safety told him two things.  One – the young man trying to put a bullet in his skull was _another_ of Pan’s minions that he recognized from the Gold file; and two – Felix wasn’t taking any chances with their escape since he was likely still waiting outside the front of the apartment.

Emma stared at him before looking back the way they had come.  “Do you think we can wait them out in here?  The fire…”

He shook his head.  The flames up on the twelfth floor were the least of their worries now.  He could see the bare bones of the building down in the basement – they had a fair amount of time before they were in danger of its collapse.  The fire department would be on scene long before that was an issue.  

Felix wouldn’t be that patient, however.  The young man outside – Devin Sentry if Killian remembered correctly from his dossier – would have alerted his boss.  Now that Felix knew Killian’s whereabouts, he would be making his way through the main building to their location.

Better they take on the one shooter in the back alley than risk being flanked.

_BANG!_

Killian ducked instinctively, pulling Emma down behind him and shielding her head.  The distinctive sound of a bullet exploding against concrete had him moving her to safety before he even fully recognized the threat.

There was a moment where Killian was unsure where the shot had come from, swinging his gun between the back door and the stairs as Emma pulled on his free arm.  He glimpsed Felix’s smug grin before he realized the woman was directing him behind a set of industrial shelves.  It wasn’t much, but the boxes and detritus afforded them some cover.  At the very least, it would make it harder for Felix or the other young man to score a direct hit.

So much for not being cornered.  Felix must have gotten aggravated by the wait, coming for himself to see if Emma had succumbed to the flames before Devin had reported in.

Another bullet impacted the wall where they had been standing moments before.  The muted _thump_ of the weapon meant that neither Devin nor Felix were willing to announce their presence.  Killian cursed not having a silencer of his own – the last thing he needed was a well-meaning firefighter investigating the sound of his own gun returning fire.

“Give up the girl, Jones.  We both know it’s only a matter of time before I win.”  Felix’s drawl grated on Killian’s nerves, but he motioned for Emma to stay silent when it looked like she was going to make some kind of retort.

Whether the comment would be directed to him or the gun-toting maniac taunting him, Killian wasn’t entirely sure.

They weren’t in a position where the odds were in their favor, but Killian knew that there was also a time limit before Felix and Devin would have to abandon their pursuit.  Gold wouldn’t tolerate his minions falling into police custody.  

If he could just keep Felix guessing long enough, they might still make it out of this unharmed.  

He pulled Emma further behind him, pinning her between his body and the wall at their backs.  He swore that he could feel the glare she was leveling at the back of his head, but he resolutely ignored it.  He was going to save her whether she liked it or not.

The emergency lights in the basement were dim and flickering, and Killian prayed that they wouldn’t go out entirely.  Shadows thrown by the light were easy to hide in, but not flawless.  Pure darkness would shroud their attackers’ movements far too efficiently.  

“We both know you’re going to lose, Jones.  Gold never fails, and he wants her gone.  I’m not going to let you get in the way of that,” the young man crowed.

Killian rolled his eyes.

He tracked Felix as best he could, still aware that Devin was hiding somewhere nearby, silently waiting for direction.  Based on the direction of his voice, Felix had moved away from the door.

Emma tugged on his sleeve again, pointing further back in the basement, but he shook his head, putting his finger to his lips.  They were protected well enough here and moving would only clue Felix in to exactly where they were.  If the man was trying to goad Killian into talking, then he was looking for them.

“Fire department!  Call out if you need assistance!”  The muffled yells of one of Boston’s firefighters was music to Killian’s ears.

“You hear that, Felix?”  He broke his silence finally.  “Your boss won’t be too happy if the police look into why one of their firemen was shot and killed in a simple apartment fire, will he?”

Another bullet slammed into the wall above his head in response.

“You can’t keep her safe forever, Jones.”  Felix’s voice echoed through the basement before the sound of rushed footsteps signaled the hasty retreat of both shooters.

Killian kicked the wall in frustration, letting the pain in his toes distract him from losing yet another member of Rumplestiltskin’s organization.  The woman at his side took the violent display in stride, and he didn’t have the time to explain it to her.

“I have to go after them.  If you head back up those stairs, the fire department can get you out of here safely.”  He motioned towards the stairs where they had last heard the firefighters.

“And what, they’ll just stop coming after me?”  Emma wasn’t moving, still holding on tightly to his forearm.  

It was a nice change from being punched.

Killian met her eyes and held her gaze.  He whispered gently, “Go to the police.  Tell them that someone shot at you.  They’ll be able to recover the bullets and they’ll protect you.”  

He was truly looking at her now, surprised to see determination – not fear – in her eyes.

“When you find them, what happens then?”  Killian dropped his eyes.  He couldn’t keep eye contact with her for this.  He didn’t want to tell her what might happen if he could come across Felix again after the adrenaline rush – and the memories – he had been subjected to tonight.

Emma changed the subject on him.  “Those men work for the bastard that took Michael?”

Killian nodded mutely, chafing at the delay but unwilling to just leave her behind until he knew she’d be safe.

Emma grabbed his forearm and waited until he looked at her.

“Then I’m going with you.”


	7. A Matter of Trust

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

"Then I’m going with you.”

The words were out of her mouth before Emma even realized she was speaking.  What was she _thinking_?  She should be running far away from him, from the gun-toting freaks chasing him – chasing _her_ – and from anything to do with this whole situation.  Twenty-four hours ago she was on her way to the hospital when Mary Margaret’s water broke, worried about what she was going to do with Michael once the newest Nolan was born.  Now, she was dodging bullets in her apartment building as it was burning down above her.  She was a _social worker_ , not a cop.  

And she wasn’t sure of much that was going on at the moment, but she _was_ sure that this Killian Jones was not a member of Boston’s police department.  Or any other police department, for that matter.

And yet.

He had shown up in that alley way out of nowhere and tried to help.  He had burst into her apartment and tried to save her from the fire.  He hadn’t left when she threw sanity aside and ventured further _into_ the flames.  He had followed her and kept her from walking into the blond haired, armed maniac’s line of fire.  He had shielded her with his own body when the two men were shooting at them.  He had done all of that despite her disdain, doubt, and utter stubbornness.  She could count on one hand the people in her life who would do that for her – and she’d still have fingers left over.

Emma _could_ walk out that back door, march down to her Bug and drive until no one knew her.  She could walk into Graham’s office and tell him what had happened – she knew he’d have her squirreled away somewhere safe before she could finish talking.  She could even tell _Nottingham_ that the man who took Michael had more criminal ties than either of them would have imagined and he might be after her now – a threat to her was far more credible than the kidnapping in Nottingham’s eyes, after all.  Any one of those things would help to keep her safe.  But none of those options would guarantee that _Michael_ was someone’s primary concern.

That little boy was definitely _her_ first priority.

But she couldn’t save him on her own.  She didn’t know much about Killian Jones, but she knew that he was going after the men who had information that could help her find Michael.  Which meant that she had no intention of letting this Jones guy out of her sight.

Killian was staring at her like she had started speaking in tongues in the last few minutes.  Emma watched as he blinked slowly – as if he were processing her idea – then shook his head sharply and tugged on her hand.

“Let’s go, we’ll talk about this later.”  Killian turned on his heel and strode out of the basement.  Emma hurried to catch up, curling her fingers subconsciously around his own.

She followed him through the dark alley, her eyes darting to every nook and cranny as if someone would jump out to accost them once more.  The only thing that assaulted her was the glare from the red flashing lights on the trucks at the end of the alley.  She searched carefully, but caught no sign of either man who had attacked them.  Killian holstered his gun, and pulled the hem of his leather jacket down to mask the bulge at his hip.

Emma started violently when he circled his arm around her, hugging her close to his side.  She clenched her fist, ready to lay him out when he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Don’t draw attention to us now, lass,” he nodded towards the emergency personnel milling around the front of the building. “If they think you’re in trouble, we’ll never get out of here.”  

The firefighters were clearly busy, rushing about in organized chaos and paying the onlookers no mind.  But there were also several police officers tasked with keeping order, their eyes trained on the growing crowd - they would definitely notice if a woman decked the man trying to hold onto her.  

Emma begrudgingly leaned into Killian’s embrace, allowing him to lead her away from the fire.  She clutched her blanket tightly to her chest, a bit startled to notice that she still had it.  With everything that had happened in the basement, the little bit of security that the carefully knitted material symbolized almost brought tears to her eyes.  She could feel her heart rate begin to calm as her fingers tightened around the familiar woolen yarn.

Killian led her down the block until her building was out of sight.  She could still hear the commotion, but it was muted.  When he lifted his arm from her shoulders, Emma missed the warmth immediately.

They stopped in front of a black SUV.  Emma thought the car choice was a little bit cliché, but ignored his taste in favor of listening to the man in front of her.

“Emma, you can’t come with me.  Where I’m going, what I _do_ , it’s not safe.  I can’t have you tagging along like some sort of shadow.  I promise I’ll look for your boy, but I can’t do that if you’re there, too.”  Killian sounded almost apologetic, but there was a stony look in his eyes as well.  He had no intentions of backing down.  

He continued before she could protest.  “Now, I needed the cover to get here without anyone asking questions, but please, turn around and walk back to where all those officers are.  They’ll keep you safe.  I can’t do the same.”  Killian tried to direct her back down the street to safety.

Emma didn’t care about the protection the police could provide at the moment.  Killian had already proven that he could keep her safe.

Stepping neatly in front of the door, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and snapped a picture of him before he could protest.  She smirked at his befuddled look, shook the phone at him, and tried to keep her voice even.  She didn’t entirely succeed.  “You really think you’re going to leave me behind?  You were a witness to a crime and didn’t report it.  You have knowledge pertinent to _at least_ one open investigation – more if what you’re saying about the guys after me is true.  How long do you think it will be before this photo is posted all over the news?  Your choice, buddy.”

Killian froze, his eyes darting back and forth with alarming speed between her face and the cell phone in her hand.  She was pleased with his speechlessness, waggling the phone again for good measure.  Pressing her advantage when he fixated on his face staring back at him in pixels, Emma snatched the keys out of his hand, jingling them in front of him.  He looked thunderous.

“Look,” she soothed.  “I know you want to get far away from me.  But I need to find Michael and you seem to be my best bet at doing that.”  Emma glared at him and crossed her arms over her blanket.  She leaned back against the door to the SUV until Killian sighed and nodded.  

Happy with his acquiescence, Emma continued.  “Until that happens, don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

Killian returned her smirk, seeming to come back to himself and accepting the keys reluctantly.  He hit the unlock button and shooed her to the passenger side with a snarky retort.

“I would despair if you did.”

* * *

Killian slammed the door shut and jammed the key into the ignition.  He wasn’t entirely sure at what point in the evening he had lost complete control of the situation.  But judging by the smug smile on the blonde currently buckling herself in, he was suddenly bent backwards over a barrel.  It wasn’t a feeling that sat well in his gut.

As he navigated the streets of Boston he revised his plans to immediately try and track down Felix and Devin.  Those two were slippery as eels, able to slide in and out of situations like ghosts.  In any other situation, Killian would simply follow whatever trail they left.  He could make do with what he scavenged on the road, had enough contacts worldwide to provide him with the munitions and supplies that he needed.  But now they were on his home turf and not in some war torn country with little in the way of amenities.  Here, he had a home base of operations, easy access to JR Solutions’ intelligence network, and a safe place for the evening to regroup.

If he was ignoring the repercussions of introducing Emma to Liam, avoiding the thought of the two of them in a room together, then he wasn’t going to admit to it.  His older brother would be even less pleased with the evening’s turn of events than Killian, himself, was.

_Bloody infuriating woman_ , he thought as she fiddled with the blanket on her lap.  This was a woman who was dangerous to him – far more than anyone in Gold’s business.  Bullets and fights he could anticipate.  Those were physical hazards that he had been trained to counter.  But Emma?

There was _nothing_ in this world that could have prepared him for her.

She was a lesson in contradictions.  One minute she was clearly fighting through her terror and the next she was fiercer than most men under his brother’s command.  She was full of defensive anger and yet was seeking comfort from a blanket that she had risked her life for.  She had seen the type of men that Killian was going to be trailing and threw herself headfirst along for the ride anyway.  She should be terrified of him, horrified at the insinuations he’d made about what the next steps in his ‘plan’ involved, and yet she was more relaxed alone in the car with him than she had been when he was going to leave her behind.

He had to hide a smirk.  Snapping that picture of him was quick thinking, and he was a little bit bemused that he hadn’t thought to expect it.

Killian was so busy mulling over what he had realized about Emma in the past few minutes that he didn’t hear her calling his name until she laid her hand on his forearm.

The zing of electricity that surged up his arm startled him so badly that the SUV swerved.  Killian glanced down at her fingers briefly once he wrestled the tires back into the correct lane.  He thought he would find a wayward spark from the fire smoldering on his jacket sleeve.  He was tempted to roll up the fabric and check for a burn mark.  But the material was still pristine.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Killian turned the corner and pulled into a parking spot in front of the brownstone.

“Where are we?” she asked, a bit tremulously.  Ever the enigma, the smug blonde had been replaced by this much more timid version in an instant.  Killian smiled to reassure her.

“My brother’s home.”  He opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“You’re not leaving me here.”  There was the indignant tone he expected from her.

He sighed.  “No, lass.  I’m not leaving you here.  Although I really wish you would choose to stay.”

“Not a chance, buddy.  You’re stuck with me.”  Emma smirked, seemingly over her momentary lapse in confidence, and then pushed past him and up the stairs he had indicated.

Killian nodded and finally gave in to the inevitable.  “Then I need to get us some supplies if we’re to go after your boy.  We’ll regroup here, tonight, and head out once I have a better idea of our next move.”

He turned the key in the lock, surprised to see the deadbolt chain already in place.  His brother was a creature of habit, and clearly didn’t think Killian would be coming home any time soon.  He called out for Liam to let them in, watching as Emma shifted from foot to foot.

“Killian, I didn’t expect you’d be back for some time.” Liam turned the light on over the stairs.  “What happened to your face?”

Killian batted the fingers away from his bruised jaw.  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled in barely veiled annoyance, shooing Liam back into the entranceway.

“I did that,” Emma chimed in brightly, gracing him with a smile as she poked her own fingers at his bruise.  Killian growled menacingly and raised an eyebrow in a silent plea to stop.

The minx ignored him.

Liam did a double take.  “I know you ran out of here without much of a plan, little brother, but I’m pretty sure _this_ wasn’t in the cards.”

Lord help him, they were both going to be the death of him and they weren’t even properly _introduced_ yet.  “I think you mean younger brother.”

Emma cut in again.  “That was me, too.”

Killian’s eyes widened in incredulity and he cut his gaze to her, but he recovered quickly, bowing to the inevitable yet again tonight.  “Liam, Emma.  Emma, this is my _older_ brother, Liam.  I’ll show you to the guest room.  There’s a shower and clean towels just down the hall from there.  I imagine you’d like to get the smell of smoke off of you.”

“Smoke?”  There was a tinge of anxiety in Liam’s tone, and it was clear that big brother was still trying to assert his control over the conversation, but Killian needed to get the Swan girl out of hearing for the next bit.

“Later, Liam.  It’s been a long night.”  He left his brother gaping in the entryway while he headed up the stairs.

Killian walked Emma up to the guest room.  “The bathroom is just there.  There are clean towels in the closet.  While you’re in there, I can find you a clean shirt and sweatpants.”  He paused, thinking.  “If you leave your clothes in the bathroom, I’ll throw them in the washing machine later.  There’s a stockpile of clothing at work that one of Liam’s subordinates will raid for you.  I know it’s not ideal, lass, but it’s the best I can do.”

Emma’s soft half smile lit up her face and the corner of Killian’s mouth twitched in response.  She shook her head as if to discount his words.  “I don’t have anything else, so thank you.  I…I appreciate it.”

* * *

Emma stepped under the spray of the shower head and immediately felt the stress of the last two days start to recede.  There was still a ball of nerves tightly wound in the pit of her stomach, but she attributed those to Michael’s disappearance rather than the strange house she was now showering in.  It wasn’t the first time – nor would it be the last, she was sure – that Emma was in new surroundings and completely unsure of her footing.  Then again, after spending half her life being shuffled from home to home through the foster system, it wasn’t even on the radar of her worries at the moment.  

Besides, if Emma were to be honest with herself, the thought of Killian downstairs between her and anything that could come through the door to harm her was comforting.  It was a feeling that sobered her and one that was soon locked tightly away.  Thinking like that was dangerous.

Thinking like that would get her hurt.

Emma protected herself.  She _saved_ herself.  Only relied on herself.

Always.

She’d been burned before and it would be a cold day in Hell before she let herself get burned again.

Emma let the water run over her shoulders, her head bowed against the cool tile, until the soot was gone and the water at her feet flowed clean.  It wasn’t enough to completely silence the thoughts in her brain – fears about what Michael was going through and sarcastic thoughts berating her for what she had gotten herself into.

_What do you think you can do to help Michael?_

_Who do you think you are jumping into this with Killian?_

_He’s better off without you._

_They’re_ both _better off without you._

Emma bit her lip and mentally told the pessimistic part of her to just _shut up, already_.  It was a constant battle to remember that she wasn’t that scared, uncertain, lost little girl any more.  She was a strong, successful adult and she was capable of making this decision.  

Someone had to look out for Michael, and that someone was her.

Remembering the abrupt end to her ‘relaxing’ bath just an hour or so earlier, Emma almost expected to smell smoke again when she finally wrapped a towel around her body, this time able to take her time drying off and slipping into clean clothes.  The soft fabric against her skin was a welcome relief, and she closed her eyes for a moment to revel in the feeling.

The exhaustion crept up on her and caught her unaware.  She swayed alarmingly before grasping at the edge of the sink.  Blowing out the breath that had stuck in her throat, Emma balled up her sooty clothes and left them on the vanity.  She peeked her head out of the door and, glad to see the coast was clear, trailed down the hall to the guest room.

The sound of a hushed argument caught her attention, and she stalled at the head of the stairs.  She could hear the brothers talking over each other and the matching accents were hard to ignore.

Not that Emma was going to try.  She was in an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar situation.  Years of foster care had taught her to take her measure of the environment she was in at the earliest convenience.  She couldn’t get that by continuing onto her room for the night.  

She wasn’t so noble as to avoid eavesdropping.

“Leave it, Liam, I’m _fine_.  It doesn’t even hurt.  I don’t need a bloody ice pack.”  Emma could hear the thinly veiled exasperation in Killian’s voice.  She ignored the pang that flicked at her chest when she imagined the brotherly concern that the Jones brothers had grown up with.

“Fine then.”  Liam sounded annoyed.  Emma heard something smack down on wood.  “Let’s talk about the woman upstairs, shall we?  What were you _thinking_ , Killian?  I know you wanted to keep her safe, but you brought her _here_?  You’re usually smarter than that.  I thought you were going to take her to a safe house.”

Emma bristled at the attitude Liam was taking.  She fully expected Killian to defend himself – she was technically blackmailing him, after all.  He was well within his rights to hang her out to dry.  

But what he said next surprised her.

“I’ve made my decision.  Can you assure me that the safe houses are completely secure?  That they can’t get to her?  No.  Keeping her close is the best plan, Liam.  I can’t protect her if she isn’t with me.  And you can’t expect me to hole up someplace and just wait.  I _won’t_.”  The fierceness in Killian’s words made her smile despite herself.  Emma supposed that she should start rethinking her expectations when it came to this man.  It was a terrifying thought.

“Killian,” Liam’s tone was conciliatory now.  “What are you going to do?  Drag her along with you on this mission?  She’s a civilian.  She’s going to be a distraction.  Leave her here, I promise I’ll get her someplace safe.”

Emma leaned forward over the bannister, curious to hear how Killian responded to this.  This would be the perfect opportunity to throw her under the bus, but she had a feeling that the man downstairs wouldn’t do that to her.

“She handled herself well, brother.  And she’s invested in this.  I’m not going to let her distract me from bringing in Rumplestiltskin.   _Or_ Peter Pan.  I know what the mission is, and I bloody well _will_ complete it.  I’m not going to let these whoresons get away.”  Killian paused, and Emma could hear the deep inhale from her perch up the stairs.  She almost missed the harsh whisper – the sharp vow.  “Not again.”

_Rumplestiltskin_?   _Peter Pan_?  Emma would have thought she had been mistaken in what she heard, but the brothers were just at the bottom of the stairs.  If she had leaned out just a bit further, she would have seen the tops of their heads.  The wariness that had gripped her when Killian burst into her apartment came back with a vengeance.  He had seemed sane, pragmatically so, but now he and his brother were casually talking about fictional characters like they were real.

Where the _Hell_ had she wandered into?

And more importantly, if Killian’s priority was bringing these… _characters_ to justice, where did that leave Michael?

Before either Killian or Liam could find her snooping, Emma rushed to the guest room, eyeing her shoes and deciding whether she should take off or wait for an explanation.

* * *

Killian scraped his hand down over his face.  The bruise at his jaw protested the gesture, but he ignored it.  “Bloody hell, Liam.  What do you think I’m going to do, forget everything I’ve learned – everything _you’ve_ taught me – because of a woman?  You know me better than that.  She may be useful.  And even if she isn’t, she’s far less of a distraction at my side.  If I were to leave her behind, she’d find a way to come after me.”

He shook his head ruefully.  The thought hadn’t even been fully formed before he spit it at his brother, but the second the words were uttered, he knew that he was right.  Emma wasn’t any more the type to sit idly by than he was.  She wasn’t likely to take well to being shepherded away somewhere safe to wait for him to bring the boy home to her.

No, better to have her where he could keep an eye on her than be looking over his shoulder to see if he needed to protect her.

“You’re saying that a _civilian_ with little or no background that we know of in tracking could follow a man trained in the art of evasion who makes a living being more elusive than a shadow?  Even _I_ have trouble following you when the occasion calls for it.”  Liam scoffed and shook his head.

Killian smiled, remembering days of hide and seek on rainy days.  He had learned early on how to lose his brother’s tail, and the skill had only matured with time.

As for Emma, Killian may not know much about her and her background, he may not know what had given her the sharp edges that forced her to fend for herself with sharp comments that deflected attention away from her armor.

_Who the hell_ are _you?_

_Did you_ want _to burn to a crisp?_

_The only one who saves me is me._

But he knew one thing for sure – underestimating her would be to his detriment.  He hoped it would be a tool in taking down the Golds.  That _they_ would underestimate her to _their_ detriment.

“Yes, brother.”  Killian was adamant now.  “I’m saying _exactly_ that.”

Liam sighed.  “I trust you, Killian.  I still don’t like it, but it’s your decision.  Let me make some calls and I’ll get you both what you need before you leave.”

Killian nodded and watched his brother shut himself in the office.  He had heard the ‘snick’ of a door closing upstairs just minutes before and headed up to take his turn in the shower.  He wanted nothing more than to scrub the lingering smell of smoke away.

He had just reached the head of the stairs when Emma almost ran into him, boots and blanket in hand and a somewhat feral look on her face.  Thoughts of standing under the deluge of water until it ran cold fled from his mind faster than Emma’s feet were taking her away from him.

“Lass?”  His tone was a bit more uncontrolled than he’d intended.  “Where are you going?”

She took a step backwards, as if she were afraid of him.  Confusion ran rampant over his features before he masked it.  “Emma?”

She clutched the fabric closer to her chest.  “I, umm... this was a bad idea.  I have to go.”

Killian was thrown by the abrupt change.  She was looking at him like he was holding her in the apartment against her will.  Clearly, he had lost her trust in the last few minutes.  He just didn’t understand _why_.

“Emma, look at me.  What’s going on?  Have I told you a lie?  I brought you here, I risked my own safety to help you.  Why leave now?”  He was careful not to make any sudden movements lest she panic even further.

Emma looked almost apologetic.  Her words were soft, but firm in her resolve.  “I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.  I thought that you could help.  But…Rumplestiltskin?   _Peter Pan_?  I’m going after a real, live boy.  Not some fairy tales.”  Emma backed up another step.

Killian smiled.   _Is that all_ , he thought ruefully.  He should have known she’d have been listening in.  “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, Swan.  My name is Killian Jones.  I’m an agent for JR Solutions, a firm that – to make a long description short – solves problems.  Rumplestiltskin and Peter Pan?  Those are _code names_.  Malcolm and Robert Gold are very real, very nasty individuals.  And yes, they have your boy.  I won’t lie to you, he’s in real danger.  But we’ll get him back, lass.  I promise.”

He extended his hand out slowly, telegraphing his intentions as he pried the leather boots from her hands.  His voice was soft when he smiled at her.  “We’ll do it together, yeah?”

Emma looked down at his hand as if it were a snake rattling its tail and looking to strike.  She let him take her shoes, staring resolutely at the floor as she chose her path.  

Emma finally met his eyes and studied him as if she were trying to reach down into the very depth of him and ferret out the truth.  Killian waited patiently as she made her decision.

“You’re really going after Michael?”  Her voice was a challenge, daring him to back down.

He challenged her right back.  “I’m going after the men who took him.  I won’t lie to you, this is far bigger than just one boy.  He’s not the first child to be taken and if we don’t stop them, he won’t be the last.  But, yes, Emma.  I am going to hunt these men down and I am going to bring them in.  I won’t accept anything less than that.  And I could use your help.”  Killian raised his eyebrow, putting the ball firmly back in her court.

Emma didn’t disappoint.

“Look, Jones,” Emma said fiercely.  “If we’re going to do this, then you need to understand something.  You need to know that if it comes down to a choice between Michael and you, me, or the whole _God damned world_ , I’m going to put him first.  Hands down, no questions asked.  I don’t _care_ if you bring in Rumplestiltskin or Peter Pan or even those two jackasses who shot at us tonight.”  

Killian watched as she seemed to grow taller, more confident.  

“I will bring Michael home, everything else – every _one_ else – can go to Hell.”


	8. In Accordance

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

Coupled with the too-large sweatpants out of his own bureau and the way his shirt kept slipping down over her shoulder, the fierce glare that accompanied Emma’s fervent speech threatened to bring a full-blown grin to Killian’s face.  He hadn’t truly known what to expect at any given moment with this woman thus far, and she wasn’t likely to fall into some cookie cutter mold any time soon.  Killian didn’t understand enough about what made Emma Swan tick yet – but he very much wanted to learn.  He was looking forward to the challenge.

What he _wasn’t_ looking forward to was keeping her safe from her own vow.  

Knowing that there wasn’t anything else he could say to her, Killian just nodded his acceptance and was rewarded with a narrowing of her eyes.  She was sizing him up, he realized with a start.  It was mildly nerve wracking to come to the understanding that he wasn’t sure he could meet her exacting standards.  

It felt like they stood at the head of the stairs for an eternity until the sound of Liam slamming the office door broke the spell.  Killian could hear the authoritative tone in his brother’s voice and could pick out parts of the orders.  Supplies were being requisitioned and it was the closest Liam would come to sanctioning this mission.

His brother was less than pleased, no doubt, and Killian was hesitant to leave things that way with him, but they simply didn’t belabor points to the point of futility.  Killian would be right about this or he wouldn’t.  Arguing about it wouldn’t change Liam’s attitude nor his own choice.

Emma was coming with him, and that was that.

“You’re not going to do something stupid like try and leave me behind in the morning, are you, Jones?”  Emma’s challenge was written across her face.

“Perish the thought, lass.”  Killian smiled ruefully before running his fingers through his hair.  “No, I imagine that leaving you behind wouldn’t stop you from chasing me down.  I don’t fancy the idea of having you show up when I least expect you.”

Emma turned to open the door to the guest room when he stopped her again.  “But there _will_ be some ground rules, here.  And that isn’t negotiable.”

She glared, but faced him, listening grudgingly.  

It was a small victory, and he pushed the advantage.

“One – if I tell you to do something, you do it.  You’re a civilian and I need to know that you’ll follow orders when I give them.”  He was emphatic, but she still rolled her eyes at him.  “Two – no going off on your own.  The Golds are dangerous, and their employees are even more unpredictable.  I’m taking you with me to keep you safe; if you put that in jeopardy, then we’re going to revisit this arrangement – cell phone picture or not.”

Emma didn’t break eye contact, but she wasn’t agreeing with him either.

Killian continued listing off his requirements.  “Three – you’ve got to let anyone know who’s looking for you that you’re going to be out of town for a while.  But you can’t tell them why.  And you’re not going to be able to talk to them once we get underway.  You can take the memory card to keep that picture if you don’t trust me, but the phone stays here.  Understood?”

“Is this supposed to be a ‘come with me if you want to live’ speech?  Because I’m not sure I’m buying it.”  Emma grinned, but while Killian could tell she was looking to diffuse the tension, he wasn’t going to joke about this.

“Promise me, Emma.  Or I will have my brother take you into custody instead.  I’m sure you’re resourceful, but I don’t imagine you’d like to try and escape his watch.”  Killian crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

Emma glared back, but he could see that she was considering his words.  “I can take personal days from work, but I won’t lie to Mary Margaret and David.  They know Michael is missing and they won’t believe that I would just go on vacation with him gone.”  She sighed.  “But you’re right.  I can’t exactly tell them that I’m chasing after him, either.  With you, no less.”  

He considered that.  “You were attacked.  Could you tell them you’re being put into protective custody?  It’s not exactly a lie.”  Killian was already thinking of possible covers, but paused when Emma shook her head.

“They’d just ask Graham about it, and he’s a detective here, so unless you can convince Boston PD that some other government…” she trailed off at Killian’s nod.

“Liam can put that into play.  He has contacts there.”  Killian didn’t like the look in her eyes – she looked a bit like a sailor adrift without a bearing.  But she nodded.

“I can live with that.”  She clutched the blanket in her arms closer to her chest, and Killian was caught by the need to ask her about it – to learn all her secrets.

He mentally shook himself; this was a mission, nothing more.  An unorthodox one, to be sure, but a mission nonetheless.

He spoke his next words gently.  “You’ll probably want to leave that here, lass.”  

Emma’s eyes widened and he continued quickly.  “Liam will look after it for you.  We’ll be moving place to place so quickly, it will likely get left behind somewhere otherwise.  I don’t want to see you lose it after how much you risked to keep it earlier.  I promise it will be safe in my brother’s care.”

Emma’s fingers tightened around the material, clutching it closer to her chest as if he would try and steal it from her.  She gulped, and it was all Killian could do not to stare at the way her throat worked.   _Focus, Jones_ , he thought as calm acceptance eventually washed over her.  

He had to strain to hear her when she finally replied in a small voice, “Okay.”

Killian watched her turn to go, and almost let her before he realized she hadn’t acquiesced to his requests – his rules.  “Emma…” he called warningly.

She glared again, clearly annoyed that she’d been caught evading him, and Killian had to remind himself that it _wasn’t_ endearing.  Securing her promise could mean both their lives, and he wouldn’t back down on this.

Neither would she, apparently.

“I’ll turn the phone over to your brother after I finish with it, and I will stay close when we’re out there, but I can’t promise to follow your orders if I think they’re uncalled for.”  Emma’s voice rose as she continued, pointing her finger at him menacingly.  

Killian was surprised to find it was working.

“I’m not some glass figurine that you can pack away to keep it from breaking.  I’m not coming with you just to sit in some sleazy motel while you play the hero.  I can help, and I _will_ be a part of getting Michael back.” She paused, taking a breath and Killian could see her calm down a bit.  “But I’m also aware that I’m in over my head here, and I know that putting myself in unnecessary danger is only going to hurt Michael in the long run.  I’ll listen when I can.”

She shrugged.  “I can’t give you any more than that.”

It was Killian’s turn to sigh.  It was better than nothing, he supposed, but he was unhappy with the way she had worded the last bit about unnecessary risk.  It wouldn’t only be the boy who was hurt if she went running headlong into danger, but it seemed this Michael was the only one she cared about.

Her lack of self-preservation gnawed at him in a way his own didn’t.

“Who is he to you?  Michael, I mean.  Is he your son?”  He probably should have asked before now, but Killian realized he hadn’t exactly had time for idle chitchat.  He hadn’t seen enough of the apartment to tell if there was a child living there, and he _had_ heard the boy call her by her first name.  He didn’t see a ring, but he knew enough to know that _that_ didn’t always mean anything.

Emma laughed bitterly.  “No, he’s one of my clients.  Emma Swan, social worker to the children my colleagues see as lost causes, at your service.”

She stuck out her hand and he curled his fingers around her own, bending gallantly as one would before royalty.  When he laid a kiss on her knuckles around a grin, he was glad to see that she returned his smile.  “An honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Emma rolled her eyes and pulled her hand back.  “Very funny, Jones.  Do we have a deal or not?”

Killian thought through her words again with a grimace.  He wished mightily that she would fall in line like a good little soldier, but the realistic part of him was aware that he was enacting these rules because he already knew she wouldn’t.

Part of him admired that.

Killian closed his eyes tightly as if they could protect both he and Emma from the words he uttered next.  “Yes, Swan.  We have a deal.”

He was rewarded with the not-quite-slam of her bedroom door.

By the time he had purged the smell of smoke from himself under the hot spray of the shower, Killian was resigned to the fact that while the accord he had struck with Emma was less than what he wanted, it was a compromise he could _probably_ live with.  She understood the risks – not as well as he did of course, but well enough to realize what she was getting herself into.  And she was smart enough to keep herself safe – or at least he hoped so.  The image of her disappearing behind a wall of flames after a _blanket_ of all things still frightened him.  A blanket was an inanimate object – an important one, he could figure that out at the least, but still just an object.  Now he was taking her on a mission after a real, live child?  A boy with hopes and dreams - and the desperate need to be loved if Emma’s self-defined job description was anything to go by.  He had heard in her voice how staunchly she obviously defended each one of her charges.  

There was no telling what she would do for the boy.

Killian continued to waver long into the night, tossing and turning as he tried to come to terms with the decision he had made.  In the end, before he finally dropped off to a fitful sleep, he had made peace with the fact that she was an adult and could make her own informed decisions.  

If being shot at hadn’t scared her off, nothing he told her was likely to be any more of a deterrent.

It was with this grim determination that Killian made his way down the stairs just after dawn had broken the next morning.  There were duffel bags by the door – supplies that one of Liam’s subordinates must have delivered in the night.  

Speaking of his brother, he expected to see the man sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and pouring over any last-minute intelligence that had been uncovered.  If the dark bags under his eyes were any indication, Liam hadn’t even been to bed yet.

He did _not_ expect to see his new partner watching him from next to Liam.  She had a smug grin on her face that set him on edge.  Killian had an inkling that having those two in a room together spelled trouble for him.  He wasn’t quite sure where the feeling came from.

“Good morning, brother.”  Liam was about as jovial as Killian expected, especially considering he was sending one of his agents out into the field with little more backup than the civilian at his side.  Never mind that the agent was his younger brother.  Killian knew Liam was worried, and often hid that beneath self-righteousness.  It was the response he had come to expect.

But he hadn’t expected a fresh cup of tea steeping at his placemat and an intelligence file in Emma’s hands.

Clearly he had missed something.

* * *

The day Emma took possession of her first apartment – dull brass keys that had a habit of slipping off the worn out keyring they came on – was the day she realized that she could finally have a place of her own.  It wasn’t much, little more than a shoebox with a lock, but it was _hers_ and no one else could lay claim to it or rip it out from under her feet when she least expected it.  She had a place to live and a bed to come home to every night, set up just the way she wanted it, overflowing with pillows and blankets just because she _could_.  It was warm and safe and _familiar_.

So the unpleasant shock of waking up in a foreign house, just a little bit too cold in an unknown bed – with strange sheets and an unfamiliar pillow – was a situation Emma hoped she would never be in again.  

At least she was alone under the covers.  

Swiping at the lock screen on her phone, she groaned at the time she could barely read for the brightness of the LCD screen.  3:37AM was written in white embossed numbers over the stock picture that she had never bothered to change.  Emma was tempted to go back to sleep, but the sound of a door closing sharply startled her to full wakefulness.  

Wherever she was, she wasn’t alone.

And then the faces started to filter into her subconscious thoughts.  

Killian.  

Liam.  

_Michael!_

Emma was out of bed like she had been shot out of a cannon.

Killian had promised not to leave her behind, and her lie detector had been silent, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have changed his mind.  Emma had learned the hard way, time and time again, that just because someone believed something was true, did _not_ make it real.  The only way to assure that she wouldn’t be left behind was to anticipate his next move.

Emma stumbled down the stairs in the dark, adjusting the unfamiliar clothing she had slept in and praying that the trail to Michael led past a Dunkin Donuts.  

Or a Keurig.  

Or a gas station with a coffee pot.  

Emma hit the bottom step almost at a run, determined to head Killian off before he got out the door.

She almost ran into his older brother in her haste, knocking two duffel bags out of his grasp.

“Whoa, lass.  Where’s the fire?”  She watched Liam cringe at the unintended faux pas before straightening.  Emma didn’t have time to worry about it.

“Where’s your brother?” she blurted out, already formulating a plan to go after Killian when Liam smiled grimly.

“Still sleeping, I expect.  He’ll need the rest if he’s going to keep you alive on this little crusade you’ve created for yourself.”  Liam turned brusquely away, clearly dismissing her and mumbling to himself as he flipped through the file he’d had in his other hand.

Emma grabbed his arm with a scowl already etched on her face.  “This is not a _crusade_ ,” she practically hissed at him.  “There’s a little boy out there who needs me.”

Liam whirled back to her abruptly, brushing her fingers off his arm with something resembling reproach.  His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but no less intense for its hush.  “I know that.   _Killian_ knows that.  But this goes far deeper than one missing child.  That little boy and all the others need my brother.”

His voice dripped with venom when he spat, “They don’t need _you._ ”

Emma forced herself not to stumble backwards at the cutting words.  She stuffed the pain inside a box and pushed forwards.  Being hurt by a few words wouldn’t do Michael any good.  

Liam couldn’t have known how much that stung.  And even if he did, it didn’t matter.  Regardless of his intentions, the remark stirred the indignation Emma always fell back on so she could cover the hurt.

“That’s not fair.  I’m here risking everything to save Michael.”  Emma glared and barely resisted the urge to ball her fists.

“And is that really what he needs? Or what you need?”  Liam retorted before she could picture how he’d look with a split lip.  

Childish, yes, but satisfying nonetheless.  

Emma responded with words rather than violence, and was pleased with herself for it.  “Have you always been this self-righteous?”

“When it comes to my brother, yes.  If he brings down Gold, he’ll forgive himself for…” Liam trailed off and cleared his throat. “He’ll have a chance to move on from all this.  You should stop thinking about your own desires and let him do this.”

Emma was torn between being hurt and being incensed that Liam thought she was thinking of herself.   _Michael_ needed her – she wouldn’t, couldn’t let him down.

“Like it or not,” she spat out, “I’m going with Killian.  So you can either continue to stand here like the sanctimonious jerk you are, or you can get off your high horse and tell me what I need to know so I can _help_ him.  What do you say?”

Liam continued to glare at her, but she could see the hesitation behind the ire.  Emma had sensed that there was a strong streak of pragmatism battling the need of an older brother to _protect_.  She wished she knew what that was like from personal experience, but those were thoughts best left to the dark of night and the comfort of her pillow.

Liam broke the staring contest first and it looked as though the decision he had come to was physically paining him.  He let out an audible sigh before turning back towards the door he had left moments before.  “Killian will be awake shortly, I’m sure.  We’ve got a lot to go over before he does.”

* * *

Liam begrudgingly admitted to himself that the woman his brother had brought home was a quick study.  In the last two hours she had learned the ins and outs of the various equipment Killian would be carrying with them, read through the intelligence his operatives had provided overnight, and proven that she already knew how to strip and clean a service weapon.  The only thing she hadn’t been able to show him, for obvious reasons in the middle of the Boston neighborhood in the early hours before dawn, was her proficiency firing the handgun he’d offered for her to take – but Liam was starting to believe that his brother would be in adequate hands.  

She was driven, he’d give her that much, and her inexperience could be accounted for by Killian’s expertise.  

At least to a point.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to quell the nausea that had settled in Liam’s stomach the moment Killian had announced that Emma was coming with him.

Emma’s head was bent studiously over the file on Gold’s operation.  She was absently making notes on a legal pad and tapping her finger tunelessly as she read.  Every once in awhile the rhythm would cease, and Liam couldn’t help looking over to see what caught her attention each time.  Sometimes she was simply turning a page, but other times he watched as her brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue darting out of the side of her mouth.  

“No one’s found any kind of pattern with them?  A favorite brand of alcohol that he can only get at certain bars or something innocuous like that which would narrow it down?  It wouldn’t be something big like all of these documents about property or associates.  Something habitual that even this Robert Gold wouldn’t notice he was doing.”  Emma was looking up at him now, and Liam found her searching stare to be a bit unnerving.

“Alcohol?”  He almost laughed incredulously.  “No, I don’t think so.  I wager it would take something more than a good scotch to bring down Gold and his father.”

_On second thought_ , Liam pondered it seriously for a minute before tossing out the idea.  His operatives did this for a living, she could barely be counted as a rookie if you squinted.  “They’re professionals of the slipperiest kind, lass.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but turned back to the documents in front of her.  “Okay, maybe not scotch, but something like that.   _Everyone_ has quirks.  We just have to find Gold’s.”

She was stubborn, he had to give her that.  But her rookie ideas were just the sort of thing he wanted to keep away from Killian.  His little brother was well-trained, had an intuition that placed him among the most successful of Liam’s employees, knew when to follow the chain of command and when to skirt the hierarchy, and had learned time and again to trust the intelligence and his own instincts.  

But Liam had seen how quickly Killian had fallen into step with this woman – and that frightened him.  He wanted nothing more than to put her in handcuffs and secure her in their headquarters or hide her away in a safe house somewhere.  It would be the best – the safest – for both of them.  Liam knew that neither of them would stand for it, however.  And he had learned to pick his battles carefully.  

This was _not_ one that he would win.

So he did the only thing he could think of to put his mind at ease.  “Emma?”

He waited until she closed the file and gave him her full attention.  Liam ducked his head as he gathered his thoughts.  Clenching his jaw shut before forcing air out his nose, he put his faith in the headstrong woman in front of him.  “My brother.  He’s… he’s stubborn.  He’s stubborn and he’s all too unaware of his own limitations.  Killian’s been fighting darkness his entire life and this thing with the Golds, it’s going to push him right off a cliff if he’s not careful.  I can’t protect him from that.”

He took a deep breath before he confessed, “I can’t protect him from _himself_.  Not until he sees this through.  He wouldn’t listen to me if I tried.  But he’s my little brother.  I’ve been looking out for him all his life – whether he likes it or not.  So I’m begging you, if you’re not going to reconsider, please look after him.  Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Emma regarded him for so long that he began to sweat, cursing in his head at how she unnerved him.  When she finally spoke again, he had to close his eyes to keep his emotions under control.  “And how do you expect me to do that?”

Liam snorted.  “If I knew that, lass, don’t you think I’d be doing it myself?”

Emma cracked a smile.  “No promises.  He seems a bit on the tenacious side.  But if we get in over our heads, that’s not going to help anyone, so I’ll do my best.”

Liam nodded before moving to the stove and setting the kettle on.  “That’s all I can ask.”

* * *

It frightened Killian more than he thought possible to see Liam and Emma both staring at him with almost identical looks of innocence.  He had a bad feeling that the two of them together, working towards a common goal rather than at odds with each other, spelled trouble for him.  Eyeing both of them carefully, not unlike one would watch a predator contemplating an attack, Killian eased down into his chair and wrapped both hands around the mug of tea.  He moved with slow, purposeful movements, as if he were afraid to spark a war.  

The last he knew, his brother was firmly against Emma being within five hundred yards of this mission.  

And Emma, well, she was caught up in a case of tunnel vision that had her seeing the path to Michael and nothing else.  Now here she was, reading case files and interacting with his brother as if they were old friends.

It was unnerving to say the least.

Killian had made a career out of turning unnerving to his advantage.  So if his brother and his new partner were getting along, then he was going to take it for what it was and get out before the status quo changed.  He plucked the file out of Emma’s hands to lay open in front of him, snatched a biscuit off the plate at the center of the table, and took a long sip of tea.  The familiar taste of England on his tongue settled him, and he pushed onwards.

The file had a grainy image of Malcolm Gold and a woman holding what looked like a small bundle of rags.  Killian assumed this was the elusive ‘Celine’ and her new child.  He shot a glance over to Liam, but it was Emma who answered.

“That was taken last night.  They boarded a plane at Logan, bound for DC.  Seems a little ballsy to me, but what do I know?”  Emma raised an eyebrow at him, and Killian returned it in kind.

“He’s not usually so cavalier, no.  Either he wants us to know where he’s headed, or it was simple hubris.  What time did they leave?”  Killian stuffed the last of the biscuit into his mouth, chewing as Liam chimed in.

“Before you got here.  Must have trusted Felix to waylay you long enough.”  

Killian nodded his acceptance of that, closed the file, and stood up.  “Then he already has more of a head start than I’d like.  How soon can you get us on a flight?”

A card dropped down on top of the manila folder Killian was about to pick up.  Beneath a phone number, it read “7:30AM, Agent G. Hackwrench.”

“She’ll meet you at Logan, she’s already got orders to take you wherever you need.”  Liam stood from the table, clapping a hand on Killian’s shoulder.  The tacit acceptance was something Killian hadn’t expected, and he wondered, again, what had happened before he’d woken that morning.

Shaking off his momentary shock, Killian turned to Emma.  He was pleased to see her standing as well.  “We’ll leave in fifteen minutes, lass.  I assume Liam was able to procure you some clothes overnight?”

She glanced down at his shirt and sweatpants, seeming to notice for the first time how they hung off her frame and grinned sheepishly.  There was a sense of wit to her tone, but it couldn’t disguise the blush staining her cheeks.  “You mean these aren’t appropriate spy clothes?”

Was she playing coy with him?  Killian shook his head.  Every time he thought he had a handle on her, she surprised him.  

Perhaps it was time to turn the tables on her a bit.  “While I think you would look quite fetching in anything, and especially _my_ clothes, darling, I think it might turn more heads than we want, aye?”

Emma rolled her eyes, and pushed past him.  She was halfway to the stairs when she called out, “you have no idea how many heads I can turn if I want.”

Killian stared for a moment longer before physically shaking himself.  

He was going to have to stay on his toes with her.

Moments later they were at the door and Emma snatched one of the bags before he could grab both.  He had taken three steps outside when Liam called _Emma_ back.  Killian cocked his head to the side, but didn’t turn back to the door.  

Liam leaned in to whisper in Emma’s ear.  “Take care of my brother.”


	9. Setting Up Shop

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

Emma sat in the front seat of the SUV, a bit stunned now that they were truly on their way.  Everything had happened in such a maelstrom over the past few days that she was only just now starting to catch up.  Killian Jones - a man with whom she was only recently acquainted - was driving her off into the unknown.  

And _not_ in the ‘ride off into the sunset’ way, either.  

They were headed after men who had kidnapped her foster client and, from what she had read that morning, made a living doing far worse than that.  She had a gun squirreled away in a duffel bag full of clothing that fit but wasn’t hers, a satellite phone that she had never even seen the likes of a week ago, and a promise to a man she wasn’t even sure she could tolerate to bring his brother home to him in one piece.

Needless to say, it was a lot to take in.

She was thankful that Killian seemed to sense that as he kept the radio off and didn’t try to engage her in conversation.  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel tunelessly as he maneuvered through morning traffic, but otherwise it was quiet.

Emma was surprised at just how comfortable the silence was.

Before too long, they were standing next to a charter plane on the tarmac at Logan International Airport.  There was a mousy young woman running around the airplane that was to take them to DC, doing last minute checks and filling out the paperwork.  She wasn’t exactly what Emma had pictured when Liam had told them a pilot was expecting them, but nothing about today had been a part of her wildest dreams.

Okay, so maybe someone like Killian _might_ have shown up in her wildest dreams.  Emma wasn’t blind, and she wasn’t an idiot.  The man in front of her - with his aviator sunglasses, his artfully mussed hair, and his stylishly popped collar - was attractive and he knew it.  And he _was_ something of a knight in shining armor.  And he _had_ raced in to save the day like some kind of action hero.  And he _had_ acted like a perfect gentleman throughout the whole ordeal.  Emma could do far worse than a man like Killian Jones.

But she had learned long ago that real life fairy tales don’t exist.  And her happy ending?  He wasn’t going to waltz in to sweep her off her feet and carry her into happily ever after.  Real life just didn’t work like that.  Emma had learned that early and often; she had taken the lesson to heart.

Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt.

Emma had forgotten that once – when a sly smile and the promise of Tallahassee had snuck past her defenses.  She’d be damned if she’d ever forget her lessons again.  She was the best at being alone.  

Whether or not that hurt depended on how honest she was willing to be with herself at any given moment.

Emma was mystified by how quickly she had come to trust Killian the previous night – adrenaline rush or not.  She could never forget the relief she had felt when _he was still there_ during her moment of sentimental idiocy, trapped behind a wall of flames.  

She also knew how quickly she had demanded to come with him on their insane mission.

If she wasn’t careful, Killian Jones was going to burrow past her walls and set up shop - and that terrified her.  

She was here for Michael.  That was all.

When all of this was over, they were going to go their separate ways and she was going to do her best to forget any of this had ever happened.  She was going to come back to Boston and stay on the Nolans couch until she found a new place to live – another crappy apartment that wouldn’t feel like home - and she was going to move on with her life.  So there was no use in thinking anything else.

_Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt._

But Emma looked at the man in front of her and she could see the same walls behind his eyes.  It unnerved her when she realized how much she wanted to scale those walls and find out what made the man tick – what made him put his life on the line for strangers.  

She wanted to know what Liam thought Killian felt he needed to atone for.  

She wanted…

Emma shook herself out of her own headspace when Killian reached out and shook her shoulder gently.  “All right, there, Swan?”

She smiled back at him, but from the way it pulled the skin of her face taut, Emma thought he could probably see just how much of a front it was.

Judging by the concerned look Killian returned to her, she was right.

He pinned her with his gaze for a moment longer, then surprised her when he said, “If you’re having second thoughts, I’d understand.  Rumplestiltskin isn’t someone to cross, lass.  You’d be smart to stay out of his line of sight.  Liam can get you somewhere safe – he can get your family to safety, too.  You don’t _have_ to come.  I promise I’ll do my best to bring you back your boy.”

Emma shook her head violently.  She was terrified, but she sure as hell wasn’t backing out now.  “Not a chance, Jones.  You’re going to have to do better than that.  I’m afraid you’re stuck…”

“Gee willikers, Commander.  Did you say that you’re going after Rumplestiltskin?”  The woman popped out from under the fuselage to interrupt them and Emma breathed a sigh of relief.  She didn’t want to explain how her thoughts had spiraled.

Not even to herself.

“Aye, Gadget.  Finally got some actionable intelligence.  Are we ready to go?”  Emma blinked twice at the name before remembering that hearing ‘Rumplestiltskin’ should be just as abnormal.

Gadget beamed at them.  “Should be just a few more minutes, sir.  She’ll get us up in the air and down, all right.  Just gotta double check, you know.  I made some improvements to the engine after last time.  If you and your… if you two want to go ahead and get on board my puddle jumper, I’ll get us going right quick.”

Emma blinked at the exuberance their pilot had.  Still, she let Killian guide her towards the plane’s hatch with his hand burning the skin at the small of her back even through the leather of her jacket.  There was a sudden electric spark between the two of them, a connection that she would deny vehemently.  Emma knew that she should fortify the walls that had kept her safe for so long, but with everything waiting for them in DC - with everything that she could imagine Michael was going through - she couldn’t force herself to step away from his touch.  They were headed into a danger she had never known, and Emma needed his unwavering strength to bolster her own.

The seating area of the plane was more cramped than she expected.  She chose a seat at random, doing her best to relax her tense muscles.  Emma had only flown commercially a handful of times, and had never experienced a ‘puddle jumper’ before.  She sat heavily in one of the seats, hoping that the flight itself would be no more harrowing than she had experienced on the bigger jets.  

Emma preferred her feet on the ground.

Killian tossed himself haphazardly down into the seat next to her, kicking his feet out into the aisle and crossing his arms over his chest.  With his head lolling against the headrest, he looked to be the epitome of relaxed.  

Emma scowled, but tried to emulate him.  

Killian had mentioned that the flight itself would likely take less than two hours, and she was already counting down the minutes.

“Gadget’s an excellent pilot, lass.  You don’t have to worry _quite_ so much.”  His face betrayed no emotions, but Emma could hear the smirk anyway.

She growled, but turned to look out the window instead of engaging him.

The flight itself _was_ smooth enough and, as Killian predicted, short.  They were slowing to a stop on a small runway in the middle of nowhere when Emma finally couldn’t take it anymore.  “Jones?”

“Hmm?”  He cocked his head to the side without looking at her, still reading through the file that had kept his attention for the last hour.

Not wanting to insult their pilot, Emma spoke in barely a whisper.  “Gadget.  That’s a code name, right?  Like Peter Pan?”

Killian barked out a laugh, finally meeting her gaze.  Mirth danced in his eyes as he answered, “You know, I’m not sure.  She’s always been Gadget to me, but Liam was the one that hired her.  She and her three partners get us where we need to go, so I’ve never asked.”  He didn’t say anything else about it, and after a landing that had Emma grasping at the seat in front of her, they disembarked with a quick goodbye to the perky young woman.

There was a car waiting for them near the airstrip, and Emma found herself marveling at how quickly this had all come together.  Liam must have been working all night to ensure his brother’s mission ran as smoothly as he could make it, and it pushed him up a few notches in her book.  

After Killian pulled out of the airfield, however, Emma’s blood pressure skyrocketed.  She was certain that she had no idea where they were.  She expected to be somewhere near a city – not in the middle of farm country.  This definitely wasn’t Washington, DC.

“We’re actually in Virginia, lass.”  Killian replied easily when she asked.  “We’ve got another hour or so in the car before we get to the safe house, but Liam didn’t want to take the chance that Malcolm left one of his boys behind at Reagan.  They would report in the second we landed.”  

He gestured behind him.  “Whitman is a private strip and Liam knows the air traffic controller here.  He’ll keep our landing under wraps.”

Emma nodded.  “Peter Pan has a group of boys to do his bidding?  What do you call them, the Lost Boys or something?”

She laughed to show him that she was kidding.  She certainly didn’t expect the tips of Killian’s ears to go red as he side-eyed her and mumbled, “I didn’t come up with the name.”

Emma suppressed a snort.  

Barely.

Killian maneuvered the car expertly through the back roads to a highway.  The monotony of the drive and their early morning worked together against her.  Emma resolved to stay awake, blinking her eyes rapidly against the exhaustion that set in.  

Despite her efforts, she must have dozed off at some point, curled on her side in her seat. One minute she’d been watching the scenery and the next thing she knew, the vibrations from the engine had cut out and Killian was opening his door.  

There was a familiar scent enveloping her, and she was surprised to find a leather jacket draped over her frame.  

_His_ leather jacket.

She looked at Killian in askance, but he merely shrugged and got out of the car before moving to open the back hatch.  Emma raced after him, determined to take her own bag, but he beat her to it.  When she held out her hand, Killian just shouldered both duffels and nodded up the steps to a townhome.  “After you, lass.”

She rolled her eyes, but moved towards the door of their temporary home.  “So now you're going to be a gentleman?”

Killian reached past her to unlock the door, and smirked.  He leaned in close, draped his free arm across her shoulders, and brushed his lips over her ear as he whispered, “We have to keep up appearances, Swan.  There are eyes everywhere.  And I'm always a gentleman.”

Before Emma could pull away from him, Killian used his hand around her shoulders to guide her into the safe house.  As soon as the door was shut behind them, he dropped his arm and moved quickly away.  He scratched at the back of his ear and gestured around them.  “Home sweet home.  For the foreseeable future, at least.”

Trying to ignore the upheaval of her life, Emma took in her new surroundings.  There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks adorning shelves.  Even the mismatched furniture was devoid of any design.  The Spartan look of the interior was a balm to the chaos that was her life now, and she found herself thankful for the lack of décor.  

It reminded her of where she used to live – just a place to sleep, nothing more.

“There are a couple of bedrooms upstairs.  I’ll let you get settled while I check in with Liam, yeah?”  Killian handed her the duffel bag finally, and Emma took the stairs two at a time.

She needed the space.

* * *

Killian watched as Emma sprinted up the stairs without so much as a “by your leave”.  He could tell that the day’s activities were already getting to her, and they had barely started.  Truth be told, however, he was proud of how quickly she had settled herself out where someone could see.  

In the coming days, they wouldn’t be able to draw any more attention to themselves than any other couple meandering around the metropolis would – and that had started the second they disembarked at Whitman.  Any undue notice in the next few days of surveillance would blow their cover and send Gold’s lackeys scurrying for the hills.

And if they had any hope of finding Emma’s boy and getting to Malcolm and Robert, they needed the Lost Boys out and about in the city.

After checking in with Liam and setting up the laptop in the living room, Killian moved to take stock of the supplies in the kitchen.  Years in the field had brought some colorful options to his dinner table in the past – and some colorful options _for_ dinner tables, for that matter – so he took a moment to bask in the familiar staples in the cabinets.  

He started to throw together a plate of sandwiches when Emma finally slid back into the room.  She still looked unsettled, but the deer in the headlights look had vanished and was replaced with a steely glint that was much more fitting for her.

Turning to her, Killian said, “There’s a meeting after dinner in a few hours with a contact of mine at a coffee shop nearby.  He may have a lead as to where Pan holed up after he landed today.  You’re welcome to st…”

“I’m coming.”  Emma cut him off abruptly.

With a wry grin, Killian just nodded and offered her a sandwich.  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind, lass.”

The meeting, as it turned out, was a waste of everyone’s time.  The surveillance photos of “Peter Pan” turned out to show a similarly dressed man and a young woman, but one look confirmed that they weren’t Killian’s target.  It was a minor setback, but he knew that Emma wouldn’t see it as such.  

As he led her out of _Pret A Manger_ , a to-go cup of steaming tea in his hand and hot chocolate in hers, Killian waited for her reaction.  He almost expected an explosion, but hoped she was aware enough to keep up appearances.

Rather than blow up, however, Emma was far more subdued than he planned for.  Her head rested on his shoulder when he pulled her close – for appearance’s sake, he told himself.  It had nothing to do with the defeated look on her face, nor his need to protect her from the harsh reality that was his lifestyle.  She sipped slowly at her drink until they had wandered all the way back to the safe house.  

In the relative safety of the brownstone, Emma pulled away from him.  He could see the walls that protected her being fortified even as she battled the disappointment that tugged just as sharply at his own heart.  Their motivations might have been different, but the goal was to bring down Gold’s conglomerate so that no one else would have to go through what they were.  John deserved to have these men taken down and Michael needed to be rescued.

Killian just knew better than Emma that they were in a marathon, not a sprint.

She collapsed bonelessly into a corner of the couch, tucking her feet underneath her as she seemingly tried to disappear into the cushions.  Unable to leave her alone when she looked like this, Killian perched on the edge of the coffee table, careful not to touch her.  He sat quietly, giving her the time to process and make the next move.

“He’s dead already, isn’t he?  Michael, I mean.  We haven’t seen him in any of the photos and it’s already been so long.  This is just… I mean, we’re…” she trailed off, looking around as if the words would magically appear to finish her thought.

Killian wasn’t going to let her flounder under _that_ assumption.  “No!  Emma, no.  They wouldn’t have gone the trouble of kidnapping him if they were just going to kill him.  At his age, he’s not big enough to put up much of a fight to whoever they broker a deal with.  Michael’s worth more money to them alive.  Gold wouldn’t keep him in plain view, he was probably transported with Felix or Devin.  Maybe one of the others.  We need to get to Malcolm or Robert to figure out where he is.  We’ll find him; it’s just going to take some time.”

“And if they’ve already,” she gulped audibly, “sold him?”

Killian shrugged.  He kept his voice even, but confident.  “Then we’ll find where he’s been taken and we’ll get him back.”

Emma sucked in a breath, a hesitant “just like that?” breathed out in the next moment.

He smiled reassuringly.  “Just like that, love.  We’ll get your boy back.”

The corners of Emma’s mouth quirked up in some semblance of a watery smile.  She uncurled from the couch and set her feet on the floor, leaning forward until she could take his hand.  Killian froze at the contact, initiated as it was in the privacy of their temporary home.  

This wasn’t for show, it wasn’t for their cover – it was simply Emma’s way of thanking him.

He knew what it cost her to let him in even that much.  His heart leapt at the glimpse of vulnerability, and he tried his best to stamp it back down.  They were on a mission, she was a civilian, she was counting on him to save her and the boy.  

He shouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – get personally involved with her.

But at the same time, Killian wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap between them and sit on the couch with her.  He wanted to pull her into his arms and let her rest a moment in his strength.  He wanted to show her that he was there for her – with more than simple hand holding.

But Killian Jones was nothing if not patient, and he did _so_ love a challenge.

He sat with her long into the night, trading stories about some of her more challenging foster placements and some of his more creative missions.  By unvoiced agreement, they didn’t talk about the Golds and they didn’t talk about Michael.  But it seemed that his stout assurance that the boy would be all right when they found him buoyed her spirits and her resolve once more.

At some point, Killian had moved to the more forgiving couch cushions, not quite as confined to the corner of it as Emma was, but not crowding her either.  It was easy and comfortable, not at all the professional relationship he should be maintaining.  But it was also effortless, and by the time they finally called it a night, Emma wasn’t tucked into barely a quarter of the couch, but rather was half-sprawled on her side.

He fought to suppress the smile that was threatening to break free at the progress.

Killian was up with the dawn the next morning, showering quickly and booting up the laptop almost by rote.  A quick glance in Emma’s room proved that she was still asleep, curled around her pillow with her face crammed into the material.  

If he paused an extra moment to take in the sight of her with her walls down, he’d never mention it.

Closing the door again, he made his way to the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot.  He sat down at the computer to check in with his contacts in the area, to make notes from the last day or so in his field journal, and to read through his personal file on the Gold organization.

It didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already have memorized, but there was comfort in the routine.

By the time Killian heard Emma moving around, he had a list of possible hotels in the area that would cater to Peter Pan’s needs.  They could check those out for good surveillance posts after breakfast.

After a few days of routine observation and tailing, even Killian had to admit that the mission was proceeding at a snail’s pace.  Emma bore the slow going with reluctant grace, but he could tell she was itching to _do_ something.  

She wasn’t the only one.  

They had tracked several of the Lost Boys throughout the city, documented several small-time deals that Liam’s contacts would forward to the proper authorities, and set up surveillance with local members of JR Solutions.

Today, however, Killian had left Emma back at the townhouse, tasked with monitoring several searches he had running on the laptop.  He, on the other hand, had been sitting in their car outside the Four Seasons hotel where it was rumored that Rumplestiltskin, himself, had been sighted.  She hadn’t been happy about it, of course, but she understood that they _could_ be in two places at once.  

He’d been sitting outside the hotel for what felt like hours, capturing images of everyone who entered and exited.  No sign of Robert Gold _or_ Malcolm, but Belle could run the photos through facial recognition and rule out most of them as tourists.  The few who were left may be the break they needed.  Killian sighed as he snapped a few more pictures.  What he wouldn’t give for Felix or Devin to cross his path.

The passenger door creaked open and his left hand was cocked and ready to punch when he recognized the red knit hat and scruffy beard.

“Bloody _hell_ , Smee.  Don’t sneak up on a man like that!”  Killian masked the surprise with anger.  

The rat-like little man ducked his head shamefully and played with the manila envelope in his hands.  “Sorry, sir.  I thought you should see this.”

Killian snatched the file out of Smee’s hands and ripped the flap open.  “How did you even find me here?”

The little man just shrugged and gestured to the photos in the file.  Killian looked down finally, knowing better than to hope he’d get a straight answer out of his contact.  The photos were timestamped from the evening before, but what caught his eye were the young men facing the camera.  Devin and Felix looked to be making a deal with a taller man – his back was little more than a silhouette against the darkness.  Killian rifled through the pictures, but none of them showed the mystery man.  “Where did you take these?”

“Oh, I didn’t take them.  But I got them for you.  He said they were taken in Anacostia last night.  Said they didn’t complete their business, and he heard they’d be back again tomorrow night with more.”  Smee was nodding in time with his story.

“More?  Did he say more what?”  Smee just shook his head, looked pointedly at Killian’s hip – waiting for his payment.  Killian obliged him with a roll of his eyes.  

“Next time, walk in front of the car,” he hissed at Smee’s back as he stole out of the vehicle.

He didn’t crack a smile until he’d pulled into the afternoon traffic.   _Something to_ do, _finally,_ he thought as he turned the key in the ignition.

Killian pulled into a parking spot just down the street from the brownstone, smile still on his face.  He picked up the tray of drinks from the coffee shop where he and Emma had met with Sydney Glass on their first day in the city.  He found her sprawled in the computer chair, head thrown back in exasperation as she raked her fingers through loose blonde curls.  It was clear from the state of her hair that this wasn’t the first run through.  Her day, it seemed, hadn’t been nearly as fruitful as his, then.

Emma rolled her head to the side when he shuffled his feet to alert her to his presence.  She locked gazes with him for a moment before the to-go cup in his hand caught her attention.  She jumped up with alacrity and shot across the room with more energy than he thought she could possess after a day of staring at a computer screen.

“Oh, please be chocolate.  Please be chocolate.”

Emma gave a tiny squeal of delight as she took the drink and sniffed it experimentally.  Killian wanted to put _that_ grin on her face every chance he got.  “Cinnamon and whipped cream, right?”  He asked, then scratched absently behind his ear when she nodded enthusiastically.

“Thank you, Killian.  I needed this.  And from _Pret_ , too.  They put in a huge one in Downtown Crossing a couple of years ago, but I still prefer the smaller one.  I didn’t know they had them outside of Boston.”  Her eyes closed as she inhaled the smell.

Killian sipped from his own cup as relished the taste of good English tea.  He had expected the poor imitation that he found so many times in chain coffee shops – he wouldn’t even set foot in most of them unless he wanted coffee - but the tea in his hand was well worth it.

Emma flitted around the room, pulling documents from the printer and stacking them with the other completed traces.  There was evidence of her lunch still left on the desk and a sweatshirt that she had abandoned on the recliner.  The only thing in some semblance of order were the files they had on the Golds.  Killian hid a smile behind his cup.

“Busy day, love?”  He laughed at the glare she graced him with.  Emma pulled back her hair into some semblance of a bun and looked ready to lay into him when he derailed her with his next question.  

“How would you like to take a stroll around a state park tomorrow night?”


	10. Battling Ghosts and Demons

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

 It turned out that tracking down a known felon who made a living by avoiding unfortunate entanglements was nothing like Emma had seen on television.  

She and Killian had spent the better part of the last week drinking cold coffee and _sitting_.  There was variety in the _places_ they sat – in front of the laptop at the house waiting for different traces to run, outside a myriad of hotels in the car waiting to catch a glimpse of whoever they were tailing that day, in assorted coffee shops and restaurants to catch video or audio surveillance, and even a couple of days spent sitting on benches in the National Mall photographing potential Lost Boys.  It was a much larger operation than Emma had believed at first, and the sheer audacity of some of their marks was astounding.  

But it was still just – sitting.  Watching.  Waiting.  The occasional meeting with contacts.  Check-ins with Liam.  More waiting.  

Killian seemed to take it all in stride, but Emma needed to _do_ something.

That night, at least, they were strolling down a path in Anacostia State Park, banking on a vague tip one of Killian’s contacts had passed on that Felix was going to be in the area, brokering an arms deal with one of Robert Gold’s associates.    Illicit dealings weren’t likely to take place at high noon, so they were meandering one of the trails in the park at an hour just late enough that Emma would have felt uncomfortable if Killian wasn’t at her side.  His quiet presence reassured her and the arm around her shoulders – for their cover, he’d said seriously before pulling her close to him protectively – settled her nerves.  The heat of his body and the weight of his arm were foreign comforts and Emma was caught between wanting to melt into the support and needing to shrug it off.

The last week had been confusing, to say the least.

True to his word, Killian had been the perfect gentleman, making sure there was coffee brewing in the morning before she woke up and letting her leaf through the newspaper first.  There was only one full bathroom in the townhome, but it was always spotless.  He explained everything he was doing patiently, making sure she understood what the day’s plans entailed.  He told her time and again that they’d get Michael back.  

Little things to someone else, maybe, but not anything she’d had experience with since she moved out of Mary Margaret’s apartment.

Of course, all the innuendos that tagged along with his chivalry were enough to have her brow furled into a permanent scowl.   _Those_ she could do without.  

Killian was a study in mixed signals, but Emma knew what it was like to show one version of yourself to the world while keeping the real “you” tightly locked away.  Killian’s armor seemed to be wrapped up in deflection and swagger, smooth to the point of being suave – so that no one noticed they were being misdirected.  

Emma’s approach was more… prickly.

Not that Killian had seemed to notice.  

Emma was torn from her thoughts when Killian stopped moving abruptly and his fingers tightened painfully on her shoulder.  She turned to ask him what he thought he was doing when the pallor of his skin choked the words in her throat.  Her shoulders tensed immediately, and suddenly she was painfully aware of the cool metal weapon in the holster on her hip.  

Killian’s gaze was locked on a pair of men far enough in the distance that she couldn’t make out details.  He didn’t react in the slightest when Emma stepped out of his one-armed embrace.  Killian’s arm dropped, unimpeded, to his side with a ‘thump’.  But even that didn’t shake him from his stupor.

A cold shiver coursed down Emma’s spine at the uncharacteristic _fear_ in his eyes.   _She_ was the one out of her depth, here.   _She_ was the one who was supposed to be afraid.  Seeing that emotion reflected back at her made Emma want to run far and fast.

The only thing keeping her there was the fact that she was almost positive that Killian wouldn’t have enough wits about him to follow her back to the safehouse.  Emma couldn’t examine her unwillingness to leave him behind too deeply – not right now.

“Jones?  Killian, what’s wrong?  Hey,” Emma soothed as she grasped his shoulder and shook it.  “Talk to me.”

Slowly, as if waking up from a dream, Killian tore his eyes away from whatever had captivated him so fully about that meeting.  Fear turned into cold fury and for the first time since she met him, Emma was afraid of that darkness Liam had alluded to the last morning in Boston.  

Killian turned his head and finally met her concerned gaze.  He spoke matter-of-factly.  

“Apologies, lass.  But you need to stay _here_.”

Killian took off at a sprint without another word.

The unexpected movement left Emma floundering for a moment, long enough for Killian to get several strides ahead of her.  His long legs were quickly eating up the distance to his target and Emma struggled to catch up.  She thought she might actually be gaining on him when she was suddenly propelled backwards hard enough to lose her balance.

Emma hit the ground hard.  All of her air rushed out of her lungs and she couldn’t inhale again for what seemed like hours.  Gasping like a fish on land, she had a moment to notice the arm retracting from where it had stunned her before the pain hit.  Her chest ached where it felt as though someone had swung an entire tree limb into her diaphragm.

“ _Really_?” she wheezed out a retort as her lungs struggled to fill before the instinct for sarcasm could be outweighed by the fear that staring up at the wrong end of a gun brought.  

Her gaze trailed up the arm until she was met with a pair of _young_ eyes, the boy’s gaze just as steely as her own glare.

“Stay where you are,” the young man – _no_ , she thought, _no_ , _he’s only a boy_ – instructed.  His high-pitched voice contained no trace of uncertainty, just a resolute authority that someone his age shouldn’t have command of yet.  Especially not while training a weapon on a woman at his mercy.  Blond bangs fell into his eyes, and his lanky figure made her think of Slightly from the _Peter Pan_ stories.

Angry and misguided teenagers - those Emma could handle.  She had carved out a niche in her agency as the woman who could tame the hardest cases.  But the level of conviction she saw in this boy’s eyes proved he wasn’t someone who could be talked out of his path with platitudes.  Tough love was risky, and the weapon pointed at her gave her enough reason not to attempt that angle.

Emma really had no idea how to handle this, and she helped lost youths find their own version of success every day.

She raised her hands away from where they had instinctively crossed her chest against the pain a moment before, holding them up non-threateningly to pacify him.  Unwilling to be lying on her back on the ground, helpless, Emma sat up hesitantly.  She didn’t take her eyes off the boy’s finger that was lying along the side of the barrel of the gun.  When the boy didn’t object, Emma pressed her advantage - turning to the side and getting her knees under her.   _Slightly_ ’s finger twitched, but didn’t move to wrap around the trigger from where it lay along the barrel.  Ever so slowly she continued, masking her movement as she turned further away – her eyes never leaving his determined glare.

The boy’s eyes never left hers.  It was exactly what she was counting on.

Before he could react to her swift movement, Emma ripped her own gun free from the hip holster Liam had gifted her, thumbed off the safety and aimed at the boy’s chest.  His eyes widened fractionally, and Emma saw his finger finally move to lay across the trigger.

Sweat broke out on her forehead and trickled down her temple, but it dripped to her collar unnoticed.  Part of Emma was convinced that this was some bizarre nightmare – caught in a standoff like she was in some Western movie that any number of her foster fathers had watched when she was being bounced around the system.  The rest of her, however, was _painfully_ aware of the fact that Killian was nowhere to be found while she and one of the Lost Boys were aiming weapons at each other in the middle of a state park where anyone could walk by.  Emma wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next.  She didn’t want to shoot the boy – she didn’t want to have _that_ on her shoulders right along with Michael’s current plight.

Slightly smirked, taunting her with his weapon, training it first on her face and then moving it down to aim between her breasts, then further down to her stomach.  “Where do you think Jones will mind me putting a bullet in you the most, do you think?”

His teeth glinted in the moonlight as he grinned and Emma snarled.  With his taunt, Slightly stopped being the mysterious boy she had no idea how to interact with, and became a familiar problem.   _Bullies_ she could handle.  They were the same the world over.  

She sighted down the barrel of her own gun, grinning arrogantly.  It was all in what you let them see.  “Never mind that, where do you think your boss will dump your body when you miss, do you think?”

Her confidence – or the thought of what the Golds would do to him – unnerved him for just a moment, and Emma took advantage of the way the gun faltered in his grip.  She took off to her left, into the patch of trees that would afford her some cover in case the boy fired off a few rounds.  With her heart in her throat, Emma dodged under branches and over logs, avoiding running in a straight line as she barreled through the wooded area.  Thankfully, no bullets exploded in the trees near her, but there were definitely hurried footsteps that kept her own feet moving at breakneck pace.  She had no idea where she was going, no idea where safety was.

No idea how to get to Killian.

 _When did you start equating the idea of_ safety _with another person?_ The question pushed subconsciously to the forefront of her thoughts despite the danger she was in, pulling her attention momentarily away from her panicked flight even as she pressed further onwards.

 _That_ line of thought wasn’t something she had time to examine at the moment, and even if she had – she wouldn’t have pursued it anyway.

It seemed like she had been sprinting for miles by the time she found the tree line.  Ready to burst out of the woods and hope she ran into someone – anyone – who could help, Emma came to a crashing halt when she heard sounds of a violent scuffle just ahead of her.  Her own harsh breathing seemed to echo around her, and she fought to calm her racing heart.  Not wanting to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire, so to speak, Emma ignored her instinct to continue her flight and instead crept forward to get an idea of what she was walking into.  She still listened intently behind her for signs that Slightly was approaching.

Emma watched from where she crouched behind a tree as Killian rocked back from a punch to the side of his head, hitting the ground with an audible ‘oof’ and rolling instantly to his side before he scrambled to get his feet under him.  The young man who had taunted him in the basement of her apartment – Emma thought Jones had called him Felix – pressed his advantage, launching himself at Jones and tackling him back into the dirt.  

Killian rolled with it, sending his attacker sprawling as he used the momentum to gain his feet once more.  Emma could see his chest heaving with exertion.  Ignoring it, he settled into a stance and warily eyed the other man as he stumbled to his own position.  The two combatants glared at each other before locking in their pugilistic dance once more.  They traded blows, rolling with the punches and the occasional kick until Killian took charge, driving his shoulder hard into the young man’s midsection, taking them both back down into the dirt.  They grappled there for a moment, Killian landing a few shots to unprotected kidneys before he was flipped onto his back.  He struggled to free himself, one hand landing punches along Felix’s side while the other scrabbled at the hand around his throat.

From where she was hiding, Emma could hear the strained wheezing as Killian fought to free himself.  His head was wildly whipping back and forth and he bucked under the smaller body, trying to get leverage against his opponent.

Emma could see the maniacal grin on Felix’s face.

She almost stepped out into the path, caught up in the need to help Killian.

“You think you can beat us and then what?  You think you can protect her, Lieutenant?”  A new, accented, voice spoke in an almost bored manner from somewhere to her left and Emma whipped around the tree trunk to find out who _else_ was in the clearing.  A well-dressed man with dark hair and a full, black beard leaned nonchalantly against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest and one boot kicked back against the trunk.

Emma spun back around, relieved to see Killian tear Felix’s hand away from his throat.  She settled back into the shadows.

“Lieutenant _commander_.  You missed the promotion ceremony.”  Killian bit out as he rolled with his assailant again, trying to lock the young man in a choke hold.  

The older man continued like he’d never heard him.  “We’re just going to take her from you, son.  You know that.  Just like I took that boy from you.”  

There was a growl from Killian before the man laughed.  “You never had a chance, Jones.  You’ll never _have_ a chance.  Not against us.”

Killian’s voice held the slightest wobble, and it hurt Emma to hear the uncertainty. “I beat you once, Teach, I _will_ do it again.”

Felix took advantage, locking his legs around Killian’s torso and maneuvering himself on top once more.

Teach laughed heartily, his head thrown back without a care.  “You had no idea what was going on right under your nose, _Lieutenant_ – how can you possibly believe you’ll _ever_ be even one step ahead of us?”  Emma cocked her head at the ‘lef-tenant’ pronunciation, but was more concerned by the silence that followed.

Killian didn’t seem to have an answer for him.

Unwilling to let this all play out while she simply watched, Emma finally stood and stepped out of the shadows, leveling her weapon on the man who’d spoken.  “Because you never saw me coming.”

She hoped that she was far enough away to hide the tremors rippling down her arm.

Teach seemed to look right through her, unconcerned with the barrel of her gun aimed at his chest.  He turned away from her when Slightly burst out of the trees a good hundred yards up the path from where the standoff was playing out.  

He sidled up to Teach, trying to catch his breath enough to speak.  “She’s lost in the woods, sir.  She won’t catch up.”

Teach leveled a baleful look at the boy before nodding his head at Emma.

Slightly started, blinking stupidly at her before drawing his gun and aiming at her.  “Oh.”

“You had one job, James, and you’ve let me down.  We’ll discuss this later.”  James – Emma was still going to refer to him as _Slightly_ – gulped before he adjusted his grip and steadied his weapon once more.

Emma cleared her throat, finally drawing Teach’s attention enough so that he finally looked _at_ her.  She spoke with far more conviction than she felt.

“Here’s how this is going to go.  Killian’s going to let your man go, and you’re going to call him off.  You’re going to head down the path that way,” she ignored Killian’s indignant spluttering, “and we’re going to go that way.”

Teach continued to glare at her for a long moment before he came to a decision.

“Felix,” he called out without turning to pair locked together.  “Let the Lieutenant up.  We’ve made our point tonight.”

Emma heard Killian let out a string of curses as Felix slammed him against the ground once more before standing, brushing the dirt off his hands, and strutting over to Teach.  The younger man’s nose was bloody, the skin around his eye was already purpling, and when his lips peeled back in a smug grin, she could see they were blood-stained as well.

Side-eying Killian as he stomped grumpily over to her, Emma noticed the scuffed knuckles and the way he held his right hand stiffly at his side.  On closer inspection, there was a trail of blood running past his temple and dripping off his jaw onto his collar.  One eye was already starting to swell shut, and his lip was split.  Those things concerned her a bit, but the gleam in his good eye was just as noticeable, and the fact that it gave him a pleased air settled her.  

They may not have gained anything from tonight, but they were both going to walk away relatively unscathed.

She could yell at him for leaving her behind in the first place once they were out of earshot.

Killian was bristling with anger as he watched the men turn their backs and saunter away, blending into the dark of the moonless night.  It was only when they were out of sight that he let his shoulders slump, the proud line of his back bending a little as he finally relaxed.  He stepped away to rustle through the detritus until his weapon was unburied.  The ambient sounds of the evening slowly crept around them and Emma mirrored Killian, holstering her weapon now that the danger had passed.

He had taken two steps towards her when her own anger and fear crashed through her walls.  Killian didn’t have a chance to react when Emma drew her fist back and punched him in the jaw.  

Again.

He reeled back, cupping the throbbing area of his face and adopting a hurt pout.  “What the _bloody hell_ was that for?”

“ _Apologies, lass, but you need to stay here_?” Emma’s poor imitation of his accent almost brought a smile to Killian’s face, but he seemed to think better of it and attempted to look chagrined instead.

It didn’t placate her.

“You took off without an explanation.  Left me so you could wrestle in the dirt like a teenager.  What did he do, steal your lunch money?”  Emma took a threatening step forward.

He shook his head and held out his hand in a conciliatory manner.  “It wasn’t him I was after, love.  Felix would be a nice catch, but Teach…I _never_ expected to see him again.”  

Emma put that aside for the moment.  That was probably a conversation best had behind closed doors.  “You left me.”

“I told you to stay put.”  Killian pointed out.

Emma shook with anger, and something else she ignored completely - hurt.  He’d abandoned her, right when she’d started to think…  She bit her lip before repeating, “You _left_ me, Killian.  There was a kid with a _gun_.  He could have… you’d never have known.  And then I manage to get away from him only to find you fighting with another of your Lost Boys.  What if Teach had stepped in?  What if I hadn’t found you?  What if they hadn’t listened to me?  What if…”

“You have my apologies, lass, but it all worked out,” he cut off her tirade with a tired smirk.  “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

* * *

Even after they got back to the safe house, Killian was still riding the adrenaline high that grappling with Felix had brought.  He had been blindsided when he’d caught sight of Teach, and had let his vision tunnel dangerously.  His brother would knock seven bells out of him for letting Felix catch him off guard.  

And for leaving Emma behind in the first place.  

He had convinced Liam to let her come along because it would be safest for her – and what did he do at first opportunity?  She’d been in danger and it had been his fault, completely this time.  He’d put her right in the line of fire.

And she was right, he’d never have known.  That thought frightened him more than he was comfortable with.  He never would have imagined that she’d have crawled under his skin so quickly.

But it didn’t change the fact that she was a civilian and he’d left her unprotected because of a ghost from his past.  Killian berated himself for the lapse in judgment.  It wouldn’t happen again.

He couldn’t let it happen again.

Like he _had_ imagined, though, Emma had acquitted herself well – without his help.  She deserved credit for taking charge of the situation and getting them both out of there.  He wasn’t a fool – Teach had just been biding his time, he could have stepped in whenever he wanted and thrown a wrench in Killian’s plans.  If Emma hadn’t barreled into the situation, it could have ended far differently.

He couldn’t deny that the brawl with Felix had felt _good_ , though.  He had been just as frustrated as Emma at the lack of progress, even if his training had prepared him better for it.  To be able to actually _do_ something other than observe was freeing.  A few cuts and bruises were a small price to pay for the night’s work.

Tearing himself from his thoughts, Killian watched as Emma tugged the medical kit from under the bathroom sink.  When they got back to the house, she had dragged him immediately to the small bathroom and pointed sharply to the side of the tub until he’d sat down.  Now she glared at him where he perched patiently before he could even begin to protest.

“You’re going to sit there and let me clean you up, and you’re not going to say a word about it.  Understand?”  So, she was still angry.

“As you wish.”  The ghost of a smile graced her features and Killian was unsure as to the reason for it.  He had little time to contemplate it, however, when she swabbed at the gash in his hairline with alcohol.  Killian made no outward sign that the sting of antiseptic had affected him when she held the wipe there, even if he wanted to pull his head back away from the pain.  

He busied himself with studying her instead.

There were leaves in her hair, and the hint of a pink blush spreading across her cheeks.  Her green eyes sparkled as she focused on the first aid, never once meeting his gaze.  Her actions were crisp and efficient – she clearly had experience with this.

Focused as he was on her, he missed when she asked him a question.  It was only the absence of pressure on the wound and the cool breeze from her blowing across the gash that drew his attention back to their surroundings.  She was staring at him with one eyebrow raised, and he couldn’t help mirroring her appearance.  “Sorry, love, what was that?”

Emma rolled her eyes at him and swiped deliberately at the gash on his forehead again.  The hiss of pain that escaped his lips startled him – he could count the number of people who had seen him flinch on one hand… and have fingers left over.

Killian wouldn’t let himself examine that too closely.

Emma busied herself digging through the small duffel bag, rifling through medical supplies until she pulled out a packet of Steri-Strips.  As she cut the package so that the strips were a more manageable size, she asked again, “What happened with you tonight?”

Killian shook his head, avoiding her gaze and scratching behind his ear.  The tone of his voice was truly apologetic when he began to try and explain.  “I’m sorry, Swan.  It was bad form to leave you behind like that.  I’ve no intention of doing it again.  I just… I never expected to see _him_ again.  When he appeared, I’m afraid I must have lost my head.”

It took her a few moments to respond, and Killian was content to watch as her tongue poked out the side of her mouth as testimony to the level of concentration closing the laceration in his hairline took.  She was perched just in front of him, moving to kneel in between his spread knees to better reach his forehead.  Her eyes glinted in the harsh light of the bathroom, and the brightness reflecting off her skin did nothing to detract from her natural glow.  She really was stunning, and if this were any other situation then he’d pull out all the stops to woo her.  

Lord knew Liam would have approved of that far more than he did their current situation.  But Killian had the Golds to take down and she was completely focused on finding Michael.  It didn’t matter what he wanted.  Not now.

Maybe not ever.

“Who is he?  Teach?” Emma whispered, thumbing Vaseline over his split lip to keep it from bleeding.  He grimaced at the taste as his tongue darted out automatically in response.  They both flinched when he accidentally brushed her thumb with the tip of it, pulling back simultaneously as if burned.

“Edward Teach.  My CO – commanding officer, lass – when I was still in Her Majesty’s Navy.  I thought I could trust him.  I thought he would help…” he trailed off, determined not to let the memories overwhelm him.  “I never would have _imagined_ he was dirty.  If I had figured it out sooner...”

Killian’s voice petered out, his memories rattling against the box that he kept padlocked in the corner of his heart.  He had fought long and hard to mend the pieces of his heart that had shattered when he finally stumbled into that sweltering tent, the sights and smells enough to turn his stomach even sitting in a bathroom in the States - half a world away.  

When he thought Teach was in the brig somewhere, he could remember a mischievous smile and shining brown eyes.  He didn’t have to remember...

Biting off that train of thought before it could fully take hold, Killian closed his eyes and firmly commanded the memories to _stay!_ where they were supposed to.

Knowing that the man responsible for breaking Killian so thoroughly was roaming free brought that nauseated feeling tumbling to the surface once more.

“Tell me about him?”  Emma’s hand on his knee settled his stomach a bit.  Her request was tentative, but he owed her at least that much.

It was like her question finally broke the lock on that box Killian had locked John’s memory in – the small boy’s face filling his vision and bowling over any defense he had against the recollection.

Killian stood up abruptly, almost knocking Emma back on her heels as the memories wrestled their way to the surface.  She stood up after him, moving back and allowing him the room to stalk out of the cramped bathroom.  He wasn’t entirely aware of his movements, busy battling the demons in his head, but he knew that as he passed Emma, her hand ended up enveloped in his.  Killian wasn’t sure who initiated the contact, but it settled him just enough.  

He tugged her along behind him as he moved to the darkened living room.

Killian’s jaw twitched as he paced the length of the room.  He was unaware of Emma’s movements until she eventually sat on the couch, watching him silently.  He could feel her eyes boring into his back, but he was powerless against the onslaught.  Resigned to telling her the story, Killian rested his hands on the mantelshelf above the fireplace, gripping the wood until his knuckles turned white.  He had no idea when Emma had started the fire he was now entranced by.

So many things had slipped past him…


	11. Somalia

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

The heat of Somalia is a welcome change after the frigid months Killian and his SBS unit just spent training in Norway for arctic warfare.  It’s not even all that hot out, somewhere in the mid to upper twenties Celsius, but after glaring at weather reports with single digits, Lieutenant Jones is happy with the climate change.  

The work they are doing here is important.  There are pirates in the surrounding waters who make Somalia their home and searching them out in country will pave the way for safe passage once more.  But more than that, the people who are trying to carve out a living in this unforgiving country have left an impression on him.  They are not at all monsters, not even remotely, and the people he has come across in the marketplaces and small villages dotted along the coast are generally happy to see them.

They’ve been in country for almost a week when Killian sees him for the first time.  In a sea of dark skin and foreign language, the boy speaking the Queen’s English sticks out like a sore thumb.  Pale skin is hidden beneath a light tan, freckles, and glasses that are currently held together with string.  The only thing dark about the boy is the look in his eyes as he lugs a large duffel bag down the path ahead of Killian.  He makes note of where he first saw the child before he heads down the path.  He follows the boy out of the port without really meaning to, his orders of the day to scout for intelligence in and around Hobyo.  Commander Teach has several incursions in the works, but they need a solid base of surveillance before they can begin.  

For the time being, Killian and his unit are free to hunt out leads as they see fit.

The boy is quick despite his slender figure and the weight of the bag.  Killian has almost lost sight of him several times, and he should leave it to turn back to the main thoroughfares of the city, but a Caucasian boy in Somalia is something of note.  He wants to know why the child is here, where his family is, why the look on his face is so resigned.

He wants to know how he can help.

When the bag hits the ground for the third time, Killian swoops in and scoops it up.

“Hey!  Give that back!  I _need_ that!”  The accent is British, not too far from Killian’s own dialect, but muddied as if there are several different homes in the boy’s past.  Killian knows how that feels.

“Relax, lad.  I’m not trying to steal it from you.”  In contrast to his words, he lifts the bag to his shoulder, surprised at the weight of it.  “Lead the way, my boy.”

Chocolate brown eyes stare up at him suspiciously, and he doesn’t move.  “That’s mine.  You can’t have it.”

Killian squats down to the boy’s level.  He lays the duffel bag down at the boy’s side.  “I’ve no intention of stealing it, lad.  Just thought I could help out a bit.  I’m Lieutenant Jones, what’s your name?”

Killian doesn’t get an answer, just a kick to the shin that distracts him long enough to lose track of the boy.  Smiling ruefully and rubbing at the bruise, Lieutenant Jones vows not to tell his mates that he was bested by a child.

Reputations and all that.

He can’t get the boy out of his mind though, and finds himself searching the port just as diligently for light skin as he does for the pirates they are tasked with apprehending.  They’ve gathered valuable intelligence here and Teach is almost ready to break them into teams and start moving them steadily inland to raid some of the camps these terrorists have maintained.  Once they move on, Killian may lose his chance to find the boy, and that is unacceptable – though he can’t quite understand the reason why he feels so strongly about it.

He’s haggling with a merchant in a broken combination of English and the native dialect when he sees the boy again.  Killian expects to see the contrast of light skin out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns, the purple and blue below both eyes and the swelling around the small nose makes him see red.

He abandons the food he’d been arguing prices over to stalk after his prey, determined to get a story out of the youth this time.

Without the damage to his shins _or_ his ego.

He follows the boy around the corner to where there is another duffel bag waiting with an even smaller child – this one dark skinned and waiting for his payment for watching the bag.  Killian watches as the older one reluctantly hands over a small, wrinkled sphere – it takes him a full minute to realize that the object was probably a mango in another life.  The small child takes off at a sprint, clutching his treasure.

When _his_ boy tears his eyes away to look at Killian, the lieutenant is wary, not wanting to be caught by the same pirates his unit are trying to ensnare.  He has no desire to be part of a propaganda video.

Killian doesn’t think that’s why he’s been led here, though.  

He just has a feeling.

“My name is John,” he whispers in his muddy accent.  “I’m sorry I kicked you, Lieutenant.”

John holds his hand out to shake, and Killian obliges him.  The skin covering the small hand is cold despite the afternoon’s heat, and there is little of it to cover the bones and flesh beneath.  He’s willing to bet anything that the boy is just this side of starving, the somewhat bloated belly adding to his assumption.  Killian reaches slowly into one of the pockets of his BDU’s and pulls out an energy bar.

John eyes it, licking his lips, and clearly warring with himself against snatching it.

“I’ll make you a deal, lad.”  Killian pauses, shaking the bar in front of him.  “You can have this, if you tell me how you got those bruises.”

The boy looks down at his feet before mumbling, “I took too long bringing the bag the other day.”

John looks up expectantly and Killian hands over the bar easily.  He has plenty more where that came from.

The boy’s crooked teeth munch happily on the dry combination of nuts and berries, and it’s gone before Killian can blink.  He smiles as John starts eyeing other pockets.  “Is there a reason you let me see you today, John?”

Killian easily hands over a second bar and is rewarded with a smile.  The reply he receives in trade is mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs.  “The bag’s too heavy to lift this time.”

John stands protectively in front of it, eyeing Killian with a fierce glare.  “But you have to promise not to look inside.  And you can’t tell _no one_ you helped.”

Killian looks down at the duffel, trying to discern what secrets it hides, but the nondescript shape garners him no clues.  

He shouldn’t.  

Not without knowing what he’s going to be transporting.  But the bruises under John’s eyes and the pleading look that the glare can’t quite mask are too much.  Killian can keep him from another beating.  

At least for this.

“I promise.”

It takes a few more meetings, a few more pilfered energy bars and squares of chocolate that Killian ‘borrowed’ from men in his unit, and _far_ more patience than the lieutenant thought he could have for a child, but John eventually warms up to him.  

The boy still won’t say how he’s gotten to Somalia, but Killian knows that he’s an orphan.  He has a younger brother and an older sister, but they are far from here and he doesn’t think he’ll ever see them again.  He tells Killian how glad he is that his siblings aren’t here, that they aren’t involved in whatever he’s gotten mixed up in.  But he knows, John whispers to Killian one afternoon, that wherever they are, they could be involved in something _worse_.

John is nine years old and what he wants more than anything in the world is just to know if his little brother is all right.

Weeks later, Teach finally tells them that they have enough information on the band of pirates they’re tracking, and that they’re going to start to move inland the next morning.  Killian doesn’t want to leave John behind, but he has orders and an obligation to the people here – including the boy he’s become fond of – to follow through.  He volunteers to make a run back to the port that evening, determined to find the boy and explain.

John is quiet when Killian describes the situation to him as best he can.  The boy nods calmly to show he understands that his new friend doesn’t _want_ to leave, but the hurt in the boy’s eyes leaves a sour taste in the lieutenant’s mouth.  He knows that John has been left behind before, and he doesn’t want to be just one more person to fail him.

He leaves the boy with all the chocolate he could squirrel away and a promise not to forget about him.  Killian plans to come back through Hobyo before they leave.  He tells him that he’ll see the boy again.

He can tell that John doesn’t believe him.

They move quickly through the landscape, making minimal camps at night and setting watches.  The pirates are just as aware of them as they are of the terrorists, so they have to be ever vigilant.  Killian has drawn the middle watch, so he lays down to sleep early in order to be awake when midnight rolls around.  

He’s woken what seems like minutes later by a commotion at the outskirts of the camp.  Rolling quickly to his feet, Killian follows several other members of his unit towards the disturbance.  Cyrus, a young man only recently added to their ranks, is struggling to subdue someone, and they aren’t being quiet about it.  A sharp yelp of pain from the younger lieutenant has everyone on edge, and the unknown assailant tears himself away from Cyrus.  More men crowd around and Killian can’t see for a moment what happens next.

“I need Lieutenant Jones!” a small voice cries out and Killian lunges forward before someone else can grab John.  They don’t know the boy and they are trained to see him as an unknown threat.  

Out here, there is no rule that says a terrorist has to be a certain age.

He puts himself between the boy and his friends – his brothers – with his hands up to placate them.  “It’s all right.  It’s all right; I know him.”

John is glued to him, little hands knotted in the tails of his shirt and his face squashed into the small of his back.  Killian can feel the tremors that shake John’s entire body, so he reaches back to wrap his arm awkwardly around the boy.  When cooler heads prevail, and the members of his strike team fade back into the night, Killian pulls John around until he can kneel down so they are face to face.

“What are you doing here?”  He takes care to gentle his voice – John is already frightened, and Killian has no intention of making it worse.

Slim shoulders heave as the adrenaline leaves the boy in a rush.  “Please don’t make me go back there.  Please let me stay with you.  I can help.”

He doesn’t have a chance to answer before the nine-year old throws himself into Killian’s embrace.  John’s arms wrap around his neck and he buries his face in Killian’s shoulder.  There are hot tears soaking his shirt by the time he brings his arms around the boy to hold him close.

As much as Killian wants to, he knows he can’t keep John with him.  But as he’s squirreling the boy back to his bedroll, trying to figure out what to do with him until morning, Teach brings him a second MRE.  Killian hadn’t thought much of the commander joining them on this mission, but now he wishes the man was anywhere else as he fully expects to be dressed down for John’s presence.  There is a strange smile on the older man’s face as he turns away without saying a word, but Killian won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  Instead, he prepares the meal and watches John practically inhale it.

They spend the next few days moving gradually further into enemy territory, and John proves to be useful in showing them the lay of the land.  He has spent the last six months running between ports, Killian finally weasels out of him, and knows the best places to avoid detection.  He can ferry messages between the teams as Teach needs, and no one he meets on the road would think twice about seeing him.  As much as he hates the idea of putting such a young child in danger for their own gain, Killian can’t find a good reason to send the boy back to where he came from – the bruises and strap marks that John fails to hide are enough to make the lieutenant see red.  

Killian gets used to the boy’s constant chatter, his incessant questions, and his endless hunger.  He automatically packs twice the rations he is used to for each day’s march, fully knowing that he will be the one left hungry by the evening meal after John eats both their shares.  The first time they are in a skirmish on the roadside, John listens to his order to hide and doesn’t make himself known again until long after the sounds of battle have ceased and Killian has called for him to come out.  It is the only requirement he has – the moment John doesn’t follow orders is the moment he goes back to where he came from.

He knows the boy well enough now to know that _that_ isn’t an option.

They have just come back from eliminating the first camp on Teach’s list and Killian is bone-tired.  He wants nothing more than to collapse on his bedroll and sleep the night through, but it is already well after 0300 and he has morning watch.  He glares half-heartedly at the men drifting off to sleep, but resigns himself to a caffeine fueled day.

He hasn’t even completely finished the thought when John appears at his elbow with a mug full of steaming liquid carefully clasped between his palms.  The boy is still rubbing sleep from his eyes, glancing around the camp blearily like he’s still half caught in a dream.  Wrapping sore fingers around the metal cup, Killian tugs John under his arm and leads them both to the edge of camp.  By the time they are settled in, it will be close enough to 0400 that he may as well start watch now.

At the height of the afternoon, the temperature reached almost 32 degrees Celsius, but here in the dead of night, it’s dropped below 15.  Killian expects John to curl into his side for warmth and fall back to sleep, so he settles back against a crate of equipment, staring out into the night.  Tonight, they are camped in a dry riverbed, closed in on three sides by a bend in the waterway.  He’s got the stationary watch to the open landscape while Cyrus is somewhere above and behind them, patrolling the southern end of camp.

He’s so focused on the landscape around them, looking for breaks in the monotony that could signal an attack, that he doesn’t notice John picking at the button on his jacket until the boy has almost worried it off.  When Killian finally reaches out to stop nimble fingers from pulling on the thread, the boy’s hand grasps his own.

John’s grip is _almost_ tight enough to hide the tremors.

Killian waits patiently – he only made the mistake of pushing John once and it ended with that spectacularly bruised shin that he will never admit to.

The boy fiddles with Killian’s fingers for a bit, staring down at them as he bites his lip.  It doesn’t take long for John to work up the courage to ask what’s clearly weighing on his mind.

“What’s going to happen to me after you’re done with the pirates?”

Killian drops his head back against the crate, wanting nothing more than to close his eyes against the pain in John’s voice.  He’s going to have to find something to do with the boy once their tour is up.  He’s toyed with the idea of bringing him back to England, but with Liam’s new position taking him all over the world at a moment’s notice and his own deployments lasting sometimes months at a time, their flat simply isn’t a viable option.  He’s spoken to the commander already.  The best he can hope for is that Teach has some information soon on how to proceed.  

Killian _needs_ to get John out of Somalia, get him to a family who can raise him right – maybe even find the brother and sister if he can.

“I’m working on it, John.  I promise.”  It’s the best he’s got at the moment.

John seems to take this as the end of the conversation, because he worms his way into the opening in Killian’s coat and finally settles down to sleep.

Killian watches the sun rise with John curled against his chest and vehemently hopes that he won’t let the boy down.

The nature of their mission has them, understandably, largely cut off from the outside world.  It drags on Killian a little bit, not being in contact with Liam for weeks at a time after growing up relying only on each other.  He finds himself sharing stories with John about some of their more outrageous stories from their youth.

He hopes that the telling will convince John to share more of what happened before Somalia.

He’s not prepared for when John finally does open up to him.

It is the middle of the night, and they should both be sleeping.  Killian has finally cycled around to dog watch, so he’ll be able to enjoy a full night’s rest before taking the 1600 shift and then joining the raid on one of the larger camps.  This will deal a decisive blow to this cell of pirates.  Of course, this is the night that John is wracked with nightmares and wakes them both every hour or so.

Abandoning all thoughts of sleep after the third time he’s kicked awake, Killian drags his hand over his stubble and scoots back until he’s sitting against a small boulder that marks the edge of camp.  John climbs into his lap without prompting and tugs the blanket around his shoulders.  He buries his face in Killian’s neck and sobs for a good few minutes.

Killian swears his heart is breaking at the soft sounds.

Rubbing his hand soothingly over John’s back, Killian waits out the distress, nodding to the man on watch as he passes.  He almost thinks that the boy has fallen asleep when the whispered story comes out in fits and starts.

“Mum and Dad had to go to a party.  I remember because they were fussing over tying his tie.  We were playing in our room when they left, and that was the last time we saw them.”  His voice trails off as he squirms around until he’s facing away from Killian.  “They got killed by a car.  We didn’t have no one else to take us, so someone came to take us to a home.”

John starts fiddling with the blanket, and Killian hugs him tighter.  He knows what it is to grow up an orphan, but at least he had Liam and the relative safety of England.  He knows the story isn’t finished because that doesn’t explain how John is _here_ , so he waits as patiently as he can.

“Wendy said that we had to go with him, and at first it seemed all right.  There were other kids and we were only separated at night because Wendy’s a girl.  But the other kids started whispering that the ones who left weren’t going to families.  We’d wake up in the morning and a bunch of us just wouldn’t be there.”

He’s quiet for an interminably long time, and when he speaks again, Killian wants to tear apart whoever hurt John like this.  “I promised Wendy I’d watch him.  We slept in the same bed so that no one could take my little brother from me.  I promised!  I was supposed to watch him!  I was…” he breaks down completely and the sun is brightening the sky before Killian hears the next bit.

“I tried to stop them.  I did!” John cries through his anger.  His fists are clenched so tightly that the knuckles are white.  “Mr. Gold came and tried to take my brother.  He was crying and begging, and I was holding on as tight as I could.  But I was too little, and they just kept hitting me.  I couldn’t keep him.  And a couple days later they brought me here.”

Killian can’t do anything more than hold him tighter and promise never to let him go.

“I lost my brother, Lieutenant.  I lost him.”  The anger and strength has fled from John’s voice, the heartbroken sobs all that are left behind.

Killian nods and buries his face into the little boy’s hair.  “I’ll find him for you, John.  I promise.”

John sticks closer to Killian than normal after his confession, so much so that he’s almost tripping over the boy on a regular basis as he gets ready for the raid.  This camp is rumored to be home to the kingpin of this band of pirates, and to take him out would dismantle the entire cell.  They are about to leave when John tells him that this is the man he was sold to – this is the camp he was in before Hassan moved him to the port to transport their weapons.  There is a secret tunnel that they can use to get in – it’s supposed to be the escape route.

John leads them right to a small hatch in the middle of nowhere.  It’s unguarded and unlocked – but they’d never have seen it otherwise, buried as it is in the landscape.  Killian sends the boy running back to their camp – Teach will look after him until the mission is complete.

And the raid takes only a few minutes as they blow through the tunnel and eliminate every target in the vicinity.  They haven’t managed to acquire Hassan, but the total destruction of his cell will at least set him back considerably.  Commander Teach will be pleased with their efforts tonight.

The lot of them are celebrating as they enter the camp, and Killian finds himself caught up in the revelry of a job well done.  He lets himself bask in the glory for a moment before he goes to find John – the boy deserves all the praise and candy they can shower him with after his lead brought them such success.

“Jones!” Commander Teach calls him before he can go looking for John.  

He approaches the superior officer quickly, wanting to get this over with.  “Aye, sir?”

Teach looks him over carefully before glancing behind him.  The next words out of his mouth stop Killian’s heart cold.

“Your orders were to send the boy back to me after he showed you the tunnel.  I thought we had an understanding that I would allow him to remain here only as long as he was kept out of direct combat.  If the press gets the idea that we’re using child soldiers just like these pirates are…”

Killian doesn’t give him time to finish that rant on appearances – turning to head back along the path to the tunnel.  What if John followed them, or if he was captured on the way back?  What if he was lost, or hurt, or…

Killian doesn’t even want to imagine it.

He spends the rest of the night combing the area, with no sign of John.

Teach has him dragged back to camp late the next morning, and he’s no closer to having any idea what happened to his young friend than when he started.  He stands at attention as the commander dresses him down for dereliction of duty, threatening to bring him up on charges if he doesn’t fall in line.  If there was any sign of the boy, the older man reasons, of course they would go after him.  But there’s nothing to suggest that John didn’t run off at the first opportunity.

The mere suggestion is preposterous, and it takes every ounce of training to keep Killian from doubling over in laughter.  John has proven time and again that he is as loyal to Queen and Country as any member of the SBS; to suggest otherwise is asinine.

So he keeps looking as they make their way back to port.  There are several small camps that they had ignored on the way to Hassan’s main compound, so they are free to raid these now that they aren’t under such a time constraint.  Killian scours each and every nook and cranny for his boy.

It still startles him when he finds John.

Or rather, when he finds what the pirates left of him.  His tiny body is barely recognizable as human, much less as the vibrant child who had fallen all over himself to help Killian’s unit.  The tent they have left him in is closed up away from the elements, and the smell alone is enough to have the lieutenant emptying the contents of his stomach onto his own shoes.

And then, like a moth to a flame, he moves closer.

John’s eyes see nothing, but Killian can feel the burn of betrayal as he locks gazes with the boy anyway.  His lip is split and several of his teeth have been knocked out, leaving him with a gruesome mask where his smile should be.  Killian cradles John’s broken body to his chest and begins to sob.

Every heave of Killian’s chest breaks another piece of his heart away from what’s left of it as the anguish pours out of him.  He promised John he would keep him safe.  He _swore_ that he’d find a home for him that wasn’t Somalia.  The boy trusted that he would find a way - that he wouldn’t leave him to the wolves.  

John deserved better than _this_.

All the damage that they inflicted on him before he… all the pain and the fear that…

There’s nothing left to him.

Killian doesn’t want to, but he is helpless to keep from imagining what John’s last moments must have been like.  Each scenario is worse than the last.  He has to shut his mind down before they overwhelm him completely.  John is gone - creating horrific images to go with the reality clutched in his arms won’t do him any good now.

He can see the fear and the confusion and the hurt in John’s stare, and he has to look away, reverently swiping his hand over the boy’s eyes to shut them forever.  There’s no use trying to make it feel better or to rationalize what happened.

Killian failed his boy, failed in his duty and his need to protect John, and that’s all there is to it.

He is lost in the world of his grief for what seems like ages.  Sobs wrack his frame until his whole body aches, and he welcomes the pain.  It’s no less than he deserves.  He hugs the boy’s cold form close to his chest, rocking them both and tucking John into his jacket as if he can warm him up.  As if he can soothe the terror John must have felt, the grief coursing through his own veins.  

When the tears finally run dry, he is numb.  There is nothing left inside of him to feel, to grieve the loss of this boy he wanted to be responsible for - who he wanted to watch grow up and succeed.  

Killian looks down at John once more, this time with almost clinical detachment.

Clutched in the boy’s small fingers is a Gulf medal pin.  There is only one man in their unit who served in Operation Granby and would have this on his uniform.

He’s going to kill the bastard.  

With his own two hands.


	12. Breaking and Entering

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

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“Teach.  It was Teach,” Killian whispered brokenly to the fire he had taken to staring at some time during his story.  

“I didn’t know how or why, but I knew then that he gave John to the pirates.  I saw red, Swan.  I don’t even really know what happened after that.”  Killian squeezed his eyes shut, part of him still trying to piece together what had happened.  The rest of him was terrified of the day he did just that.  He knew that he wouldn’t like knowing what happened.  Who he became.  “The lawyer that Liam got assigned to my case told me it took three men to drag me off of him, but I don’t remember a damn thing.  The next thing I knew, I was on the ship, in the brig.  Someone else took pity on John, made sure his body was brought back home.  He may have died an orphan in Somalia, but at least he wasn’t left behind.”

Killian was mortified to hear his voice crack and he clamped his jaw shut before he could embarrass himself further.  Breathing harshly through his nose, he struggled to get a handle on his emotions.  It had been years since his and Teach’s court cases had forced Killian to relive John’s death in such detail.  He hadn’t even been able to tell Liam all of it – not about the cold nights in camp and how much the boy meant to him.  But with Emma, he couldn’t stop himself from telling her as many details about him as he could.  

Maybe it was because of her need to save Michael as stridently as he’d wanted to protect John, or maybe it was because despite the number of times Killian had been burned in the past, Emma had taken up residence inside his walls without his permission.  Whatever the reason, John deserved for someone other than just Killian to know his story, to know the boy like he did and Emma seemed to understand in a way that no one else he knew could.

Emma’s hand rested in between his shoulder blades; he hadn’t even been truly aware of her presence until she started rubbing her thumb back and forth across his back.

“You loved him.”  Her voice was gentle, but hesitant.  To hear it put so bluntly cut him to the quick.

Killian nodded jerkily as he turned to face her, drawing her close and burying his face in her neck.  He didn’t know exactly what possessed him to do it, knew that her boundaries and his didn’t allow for the kind of human contact he needed at the moment.  But the feel of her pressed against him - there and _real_ and alive - settled him.

It certainly didn’t make her relax in the wake of his story.  He could feel every muscle in her body tense in alarm, and he tried to pull back so he could apologize profusely.

But she didn’t let him.  After only a moment’s hesitation, Emma wrapped her arms around him, tangling one hand in his hair while the other stroked up and down his back.  She murmured into his ear, but he couldn’t understand her over the depth of his pain.  The hot trail of a solitary tear seared his cheek before it dripped down to soak in Emma’s shirt, and he couldn’t find the strength within himself to let go of her.

Killian felt as though he would have fractured completely if she wasn’t there to hold him together.  That first tear broke the dam, and he was helpless against the wave of sorrow, of _grief_ , that tried to drown him.

At some point their combined weight must have become too much for her to support, because when he came back to himself, the two of them were hopelessly entangled, sitting haphazardly on the hearth.  Killian’s head was still resting on her shoulder and he finally worked up the nerve to make eye contact.  There were tears in her eyes and a sad little smile on her face.

Killian could feel the heat rise on his cheeks as he sat up.  He swiped a hand roughly over his face to try and erase any evidence of his meltdown.  Emma didn’t need this on her shoulders.  She was worried about Michael – and rightly so.  Whatever had happened in the past, their current mission was far more important.

“I’m so sorry, Swan.  I shouldn’t have… you shouldn’t have to…” Killian didn’t know what to say.

Emma cut him off vehemently.  “Don’t you _dare_ apologize for loving that little boy this much, Killian Jones.  Don’t you dare.”

He nodded mutely, not quite ready to accept her absolution.  “I’m not a good man, Swan.  You need to know that.  I still don’t rightly know how Liam orchestrated an honorable discharge for me, but I should be in the brig for striking a superior officer.”  He paused, “for attempting to _kill_ a superior officer.”

“Do you regret it?  Trying to kill him?”  Emma’s voice was soft as she took his hand in hers, idly tracing the lines of his palm.

He wouldn’t - _couldn’t_ \- be anything but honest with her.  Not even if it sent her running.  “No.”  

“Good.”

Killian stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck.   _Good?_  He just admitted to trying to kill a man – trying to murder his superior officer.  If his team hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have stopped.  And she just… accepted that?  Accepted _him_?

If anyone were to ask later, Killian would claim that he wasn’t entirely in control of his actions.  It was almost as if he were watching the scene unfold with bright neon signs blaring “stop!” above his head.  But despite all the reasons he shouldn’t, they _couldn’t_ , he found himself leaning in and brushing his lips against hers.  It was light at first, hesitant, no more than the caress of a feather.  He could have left it chaste, pulled back and let her make the next move.  A gentleman would have stopped – or never have started in the first place.  But despite his better judgment, he _didn’t_ stop there.  Snaking his hand up to wrap around the base of her ponytail, Killian used it to guide her to a better angle.

And she let him.

Her fingers fisted in the lapels of his shirt to pull him closer as his free hand came to cup her jaw, his thumb sliding gently over the apple of her cheek as he deepened the kiss.  He closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling of her nose pressed into his cheek, the scent of her encompassing him.  Emma’s tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips, but pulled back coyly before he could open for her.  Killian smiled despite himself, chasing after her and kissing the pout from her lips.  Emma stiffened for a moment, and warning bells started blaring in his head.  His eyes popped open with a start, ready to backtrack and find a graceful way to retreat – _no, no, a_ strategic exit _, not a_ retreat, _Joneses never retreat_ – at the mere hint she was uncomfortable.  

But just as he sucked in a breath to apologize, Emma grabbed onto the hair at the nape of his neck and _tugged_.  The brief burst of pain tore a growl from his throat as her lips crashed onto his again.  Killian’s hand skimmed down her back and settled just under the hem of her shirt, the heat of her skin under his palm setting him on fire.  She bit lightly at his lower lip, pulling on it with her teeth and demanding control of the kiss.  The cut on his lip that Felix had left him stung briefly, but the pain faded almost before he could register it.  She was intoxicating, her kiss was like a drug, pulling him in and making him forget the world around them.  He was so lost in the sensation of her, that he almost didn’t realize when she pulled back abruptly.

Breathing hard, her forehead rested on his for a moment before Emma tore her hands free of his hair and pushed him back.  She scrambled to her feet and stumbled a few paces away, looking anywhere but at him.  “We can’t do this, Jones.  We…”

Killian stood as well, his hand tracing over his lips subconsciously.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry, Emma.  That was bad form on my part.  I shouldn’t have… I know that we…”

It seemed they were both incapable of stringing an entire thought together.

Emma reached forward again, and he noticed that she was trembling.  She laid her hand above his heart and tried to meet his gaze – a tentative smile hesitantly working its way over her face.  “I’m not… I’m not saying ‘no’.  Just… not now.  We have a job to do, and Michael is the priority here.  The only thing I can think about right now is the best way to get him back.”  

She paused a moment, biting her lip as her eyes darted around the room.  It took a little while before she could meet his gaze and continue.  “If we do this, if we… I don’t want it to be because I’m worried about him.  And I especially don’t want it to be because you just lost John all over again tonight.  I couldn’t handle it if that’s all this was.  I _need_ this to be real, not some trick of our emotions.  Right now, I’m just not sure.  If this was just, _is_ just...”

Killian covered her hand with his own when her words trailed off unfinished, letting her feel the steady thumping of his heart.  “I want this to mean something, Emma.  Because I believe in good form.  And I get that this isn’t the right time.  But today or next week or whenever this mission is over, it won’t change how I feel.”  Killian ducked his head so that he was sure she could see the sincerity in his eyes.  “So when I win your heart, Emma – and I _will_ win it – it will not be because of any trickery.  It will be because you want me.”

He saw the fear in her eyes at his admission, saw the walls skyrocketing to new heights.  But he also saw something else in the seconds before she bolted from the room.  He couldn’t put a name to the emotion he saw flickering there – but it was enough to give him hope.

Despite spending the rest of the evening and the early dawn scouring for a lead in the files, Killian was still up with the sun.  If he just continued to concentrate on finding any trace of the Golds, he wouldn’t have to think about what the night before had meant.  He finally crashed on the couch for a few hours, too tired to make it to his room.  Regardless of his own restless night, he didn’t see Emma until late in the morning, after he’d finished his third cup of coffee and taken a long walk to _Pret A Manger_ to secure ham and cheddar croissants for them both.  There was, of course, a to-go cup of hot chocolate made to her liking waiting on the kitchen table when she finally graced him with her presence.  The steam rising from the cup was evidence of his good timing, her shy smile his thanks.

He’d take the bread crumbs she left and hoard them, hoping one day she’d grant him with more.  

It should have been awkward, after the night they just had, but it just… wasn’t.  Emma read the paper and Killian cleaned up the detritus left over from breakfast.  It was quiet, yes, but comfortable, and he had to remind himself forcefully that he shouldn’t get used to the domesticity.  That hoping that their kiss would lead to more was one thing, but he had to remember that Emma could just as easily take off like a frightened rabbit once they found Michael if he didn’t toe the line.  Killian couldn’t think about what might happen – he _wouldn’t_ set himself up for a fall like that.  He may have been proud of his physical strength – always had been – but he was self-aware enough to know that his emotional state was far more in flux.  

Killian Jones had learned the hard way in recent years to protect his heart fiercely, as it was far more fragile than his body.

The laptop dinged just as she handed him the newspaper, and he silently commended good timing once again – anything to keep his mind focused on the mission like Emma wanted.  Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, her head swiveled around to focus on the trace he set to run.

“A new lead?”  Killian could tell she was chomping at the bit after the previous night’s encounter in the park.

“Aye, love.  We’ve been here over a week and despite the intel we’ve been given and our exhaustive efforts, there’s been no sign of Malcolm or Robert.  I’m starting to accept that we took the bait with those photos.  I don’t think they ever were even _in_ DC.”  He felt the heat rise on his cheeks at the thought that he led them on the goose chase Malcolm sent them on.

_How can you possibly believe you’ll ever be even one step ahead of us?_  Teach had taunted him, and Killian wondered if the man was talking about Somalia or now.  Had Gold _wanted_ them in the city?  Had he wanted Killian to find Teach – to throw him off Malcolm or Robert’s trail?

He had succumbed to the need to make Teach pay last night – almost at the cost of Emma’s well-being.  He couldn’t make that mistake again.  He needed to put on blinders and focus.  

Michael.  

Peter Pan.  

Rumplestiltskin.

Then.   _Then_ , he could look to taking down Teach.  And then, _then_ he could think about how to convince Emma that it was safe to let him behind the walls she’d erected to protect her heart.

“Okay, so where does that leave us?”  There was a glint of pain in Emma’s eyes, and Killian longed to be able to soothe it away.  He was well aware that he couldn’t – that only a ginger haired little boy safe in her arms could do that.

“Well,” he grinned as he gestured with flair to the cell phone connected to the laptop.  “Last night wasn’t a total loss.  While we were _wrestling in the dirt like teenagers_ , I managed to lift this from Felix’s pocket.”

Emma rolled her eyes at her words being parroted back to her.  But still, she smirked and her eyes lit up just a bit.  “And we’ve learned something?”

“Aye.”  He turned to the computer and pulled up a satellite image.  A few more clicks of the mouse, and a green area lit up over the map.  “Curious that all of the numbers in this phone triangulate to this section of New York City, don’t you think?”

* * *

Once upon a time, Emma had toyed with the idea of moving to New York - back when she had gotten her life together enough to move off of Mary Margaret’s couch.  She had even gone so far as to pack up the Bug and drive down to the City, cursing through the tolls and traffic the whole way.  

By the time she got there, instead of looking for an apartment, Emma had found the cheapest motel room she could, slept for a few hours, and turned right back to Boston.

That sleazy motel room with its questionable bedding and the lock that only worked because she shoved a chair under the doorknob was what she had in mind when Killian said there wasn’t an open safe house for them in New York.

She had watched her fair share of undercover and spy TV shows and had fully expected to be spending the foreseeable future curled up on one corner of the bed wrapped up in the sleeping bag she’d seen in the trunk.

Needless to say, a stay at a four-star hotel just outside of Central Park was _not_ what Emma had been picturing.

The valet had ushered them out of the vehicle with a crisp, “Welcome back, Mr. Grapnel.”  The concierge had made small talk with Killian, calling him _James_ and asking after his brother.  After he finished with the small talk and introduced her as ‘his Emma’, the woman had graced _her_ with a somewhat disdainful look that was quickly masked under a polite smile and a welcome to the hotel.

“We have your normal room available, James.  I assume that will be to your liking?”  Emma watched Killian’s fingers scratch at the back of his ear absently as he nodded in agreement.  The woman continued, oblivious to his discomfort.  “Perfect, it will be just a few minutes then while I send someone up with your bags.”

Killian led Emma into the lounge and she was still trying to take in all the luxury when he leaned in to brush a kiss over her cheek.  Before she could even flinch, his lips moved to her ear where he whispered, “Appearances, love,” and then he was gone.

She watched as he sidled up to the bar, chatting with the man behind it.  There was an ease to his posture that spoke of a self-assurance that Emma was jealous of.   _His posture,_ right _, that’s what caught your eye,_ she thought wryly.

The smile that came to her, unbidden, was at war with the turmoil of emotions battling for dominance.  Fear.  Anger.  Happiness.  Trepidation.  On the heels of that came the memories she had been fiercely stomping back down since their shared kiss the night before.

_Finding the Bug._  
A whirlwind tour of convenience stores.  
Watches in a bus station locker.  
A gun pointed at her.  
“Unless he set you up.”  

_Tiny cries in a hospital room._

_Praying that her sealed Juvie record wouldn’t come back to bite her._

Emma wanted to believe that Killian was different.  That everything they’d gone through in the past few weeks could prove that he _wasn’t_ Neal.  But she was still terrified of what it all meant, and him continuing to flirt with the line of professional “cover stories” and genuine interest wasn’t helping.  

She was so caught up in her thoughts that there was a tumbler of amber alcohol in her hand before she even realized Killian had left the bar.  She sipped distractedly at the liquid, amazed at how smooth the rum was.  Looking around, Emma realized that she shouldn’t have been surprised at the quality or liquor, but nevertheless, she savored it.

Social workers couldn’t exactly afford top-shelf on their salaries.

Emma finally looked out of the corner of her eye at Killian.  He was lounging in the black leather easy-chair next to her, one elbow propped up on the armrest and the other hand creeping towards hers.   _For appearances_ , she reminded herself as she intertwined their fingers.  It was easy; it was comfortable.

It was alarming in just how terrifying it _wasn’t._

Killian’s thumb smoothed circles on the back of her hand as they sat in comfortable silence.  The lounge itself was quiet, several other patrons of the hotel absorbed in their own little worlds.  Emma was happy enough to lose herself imagining their stories, and in wondering if anyone would be able to guess theirs.  The thought caused to huff a tiny laugh under her breath.

But thinking of their story drew her out of her reverie.  

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” she hissed under her breath.  Here they were enjoying the afternoon, and the Golds could be anywhere.  

If the bastards were even in New York.  She and Killian were here based on a hunch, based on a cell phone that Killian had managed to lift from Felix in what was looking more and more like a planned encounter.  What if Teach had intended for them to find the phone?  What if the Golds were, at this very moment, headed off in the complete opposite direction?  What if…?

Killian’s hand squeezed hers as he leaned close.  Emma realized with a start that her knuckles were white from how hard she was gripping his fingers.  “There’s nothing we can do at the moment, love.  Our room will be ready in a bit and then we can get everything set up.  Try to relax a bit,” he whispered soothingly.

She shot a glare over at him and he smiled softly.  “I know, love.  I know.”

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, but Emma could tell that he was working up the nerve to say something else.  His thumb was still tracing patterns over her hand, but the pace was becoming more frenetic, and his hand was starting to sweat.  When she looked up at him, his face was a mask of calm, but Emma knew all about masks.

“Killian…” she drew out the last syllable, waiting for him to get on with whatever was bothering him.  He scratched behind his ear again, the tumbler of rum forgotten on the armrest.

Killian met her nonplussed stare and sighed.  “It’s just… I couldn’t change rooms without Adella asking why.  And she can be bought for a pretty smile and a compliment.  So I didn’t want anything to stick out in her mind just in case.  And it’s just that the room, well suite really…”

“There’s only one bed, isn’t there?” Emma deadpanned before swallowing the last of her rum.  Killian nodded silently before smirking.  She caught the way his eyebrow waggled and her jaw twitched in response.  There was an innuendo on the tip of his tongue, she could already hear it in her head, so she cut him off.  “I bet you ex-military types have to sleep in worse places than the floor of a four-star hotel all the time.  I’ll even let you have a pillow.”

With that, she rose to her feet and sauntered over to the bar for a refill of her rum – on Mr. James Grapnel’s account.

When they finally made it upstairs, Emma was pleased to find that there was actually a sofa bed in the monstrous suite they were to call home while in the City.  All bravado aside, she’d have felt bad sleeping in the king size bed alone while Killian slept on the floor if it hadn’t been there.

Not that _that_ would have been enough to invite him to sleep in the bed, too.  King size or not, there was no way she was sharing a bed with Killian Jones, and not because she didn’t trust him – he’d proven time and again that he really was a gentleman.

Emma wasn’t sure she could trust herself.

She had fled the room after their kiss in DC, burrowed under her blankets and refused to acknowledge what was flying through her mind – namely, that she wanted to barrel right back down the stairs and pick up where they left off.  The look on Killian’s face when she told him they couldn’t do this had been heartbreaking enough to have her backtracking – and that scared her nearly senseless.

So she buried her feelings behind the desperate need to find Michael and she soldiered on.  

Thankfully, he seemed content to follow her lead.  It wasn’t awkward helping him set up the equipment in their new room, and soon she was ordering them a late lunch from room service as Killian checked in with Liam.  It was only after he hung up that she noticed his tense features.

“I have to meet up with a contact of Liam’s this evening, love.  I’m afraid I need you to stay here.”  Killian gestured around their suite, and explained further before Emma could protest.  “He’s rather skittish as it is, and if I bring you with me, he’s just as likely to bolt as he is to make a scene.”

She sneered at being left behind, but there wasn’t much for it, so when he headed out to meet the man after they ate, Emma sat at the computer and pulled up the information from Felix’s cell phone.  

Most of the phone numbers were likely burners that couldn’t be traced – that much, apparently, the television shows got right – but there were several local businesses that Felix had made calls to.  One of them, repeatedly.  She plugged the number into the computer app and stared at the result.

_Dark Hollow International Consolidators_.  Emma had to blink twice at the sinister name.  “ _Really_?”  She called out to the empty room.  “Why couldn't it be called something like Sunshine Valley Limited or Rainbow Cove Corporation?”  

She had no doubt that this was one of the Golds’ shell companies.

Killian’s meeting had turned up the same information, along with definitive proof that Malcolm was in the area.  He handed her a cup of ‘her’ hot chocolate from the _Pret A Manger_ he’d passed on his way back.  There was a little smile on his face when he asked, “Up for a little breaking and entering tonight, love?”

They were dressed all in black and Killian had even smeared dark grease on her face before his own after they pulled into a parking garage.  She had to suppress a giggle when she saw herself in the side mirror.  She looked like one of those ridiculous characters from the old _Mission: Impossible_ show that she had watched reruns of as a kid.  Killian sidled up behind her and whispered, “Ka-pow!  Bam!  Zap!” in her ear.  She met his gaze in the mirror and grinned.  

“Bang!  Crunch!  Zowie!” she replied before pulling a balaclava up to cover most of her face.

The trek up to the fifteenth floor was longer than Emma anticipated, and she was more surprised than she should have been to find the door locked.  Killian pulled out a set of lock picks, and she deftly grabbed them out of his hands before he could protest.  She smirked and had the tumblers under control in a matter of seconds.

“Tales of a misspent youth,” she muttered at Killian’s gobsmacked look.  “You’re not the only useful one here.”

“Just who are you, Swan?”  He ushered her out of the landing and moved to disable the alarm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She continued on, pretending not to hear his whispered, “Perhaps I would.”

The office took up the entirety of the floor, but they weren’t interested in its legitimate enterprise, so they moved steadily towards the plush, corner office with the name “B. Driscoll, CFO” stenciled on the door.

Emma set to work on the lock as Killian kept an eye out for trouble.  She could feel the heat of him at her back, shrouding her from view should they be found by a security guard or someone working another time zone’s business.  As easily as the stairwell door had opened, that was how difficult the office door proved to be.  Emma struggled to align the tumblers as her frustration grew.  There was a trick mechanism in place, she knew it, but it didn’t make picking the lock any easier.  When she finally heard the ‘snick’ of the trick, she huffed an audible sigh of relief.

They were in.

Killian steered her into the room and locked the door behind him.  The light of the moon was thankfully bright enough through the floor-to-ceiling windows that they didn’t have to risk using flashlights.  She began to rifle through the files in the drawers of Mr. Driscoll’s desk while listening to Killian move paintings and photographs from the walls.  He had just found the safe when Emma came across a locked drawer.  A few seconds to jimmy the lock open, and she had found enough transaction records to last them well into the night.

Determined not to miss a single one, Emma began snapping pictures of the files when something caught her attention.  She froze for a moment, hesitant to believe what she was seeing.

> _Goods: Darling_  
>  Size: 10  
> Location: Gapstow B. 0300  
> Transaction: COD

“Killian, look at this.  They’re moving ‘darling goods, size 10’ tomorrow night at Gapstow Bridge.  That’s got to be Michael!”  They were so close to finding him.

Killian nodded.  “There you go, tomorrow we get your boy back, love.  And then the real fun begins.”  She almost rolled her eyes at the look on his face when he said ‘fun’. But they had a solid lead to finding Michael, so she ignored the instinct in favor of grinning.  

Emma was about to throw caution to the wind and hug him when the sound of a door closing echoed through the floor.


	13. Recoil

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

_**SLAM!** _

Emma’s eyes widened and she stopped in her tracks.  Her pulse raced.  Sweat broke out on her forehead.  There was a queasiness that she usually equated with food poisoning that overtook her.  She’d felt _this_ paralyzing fear once before, when Neal had left her in the lurch in an alley with an expensive watch and a resulting stint in juvenile hall.

This time, however, she wasn’t alone.  Killian grabbed her hand, startling her out of her frozen state, and dragged her down to hide behind the desk.  He manhandled her into the foot space under the mahogany desk while he crouched down in front of her, his gun primed and ready but pointed at the floor.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

Emma didn’t move, she could barely even breathe at the sound of the doorknob jiggling.  She couldn’t do anything but tighten her grip on her own weapon and hope that whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t have a key.  They sat there, huddled in the dark, for what felt like hours before the sound of a door slamming down the hall signaled that their would-be discoverer had moved on.  Still, Killian didn’t allow them to move for another ten minutes or so before he crept to the door and found the coast clear.

The grin on his face as they wiped the grease off their faces and pulled out of the parking garage was infectious – and it combatted the shaking that had started in her hands.  There was no telling how much worse the night could have ended up, but Emma wasn’t willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Back in the relative safety of their suite, Emma collapsed on the bed after a healthy dose of rum and a long, hot bath in the suite’s enormous porcelain tub.  She was asleep before she even bothered crawling under the covers.

It was the smell of bacon that woke her up.  The curtains were now drawn tight over the window against any sunlight that might peek through and she was buried beneath the blankets she’d fallen asleep on top of – the edges tucked in around her snugly.  

Killian.

He must be the culprit responsible for the comfortable way she woke up rather than the haphazard manner in which she fell asleep.

The bedside clock showed it was past noon, and Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept that late.  Still, she stumbled out of the bedroom into the tiny kitchenette in a desperate search for coffee.  Killian was standing over the stove, frying bacon distractedly as he thumbed through maps and satellite images on the tablet.  There was coffee brewing and a stack of pancakes waiting for her.

“I thought this might get you out of bed.  I got us some supplies this morning so we can get ready for tonight without having to worry about meals.”  He didn’t pause what he was doing, and Emma sat at the small table to start eating.

The rest of the day passed in the same comfortable ease, plans made and alternatives discussed.  When the time came to head out to the park, Emma thought she was ready for anything.  

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The bridge was something straight out of a fairytale.  Not one of those “they live happily ever” stories, but more like the Grimm version.  Where she was hiding, pressed against the stone wall with her feet sinking in the mud at the water’s edge, was the perfect hideout for an evil troll.

She could picture the beast huddled in the shadows, waiting for a hapless passerby.  She could almost smell the dank stink such a creature would make.

Emma never said that growing up in the foster system – tasked with her own entertainment amidst countless hours of loneliness – didn’t give her a vivid imagination.

They were dressed all in black again and she could barely see Killian as he crouched in the mud on the other side of the bridge wall.  Only the barest hint of his silhouette against the inky darkness that shrouded them both assured her that he was still there.  Above them the bridge loomed, lit up on each end with dim, incandescent lanterns that should have been replaced ages ago.  The light reflected eerily off the tiny ripples in the water, and it did nothing to calm Emma’s nerves, nor settle her imagination.

Since they were long past the hour where normal foot traffic utilized the bridge, Emma held her breath when she heard footsteps.  She held her gun loosely with the safety off, pointed up towards the walkway should anyone come looking for them.  Muffled voices filtered through the dark and Emma strained to hear what was being discussed.  There was definitely some kind of transaction taking place, and one of the voices sounded impossibly young.  Unable to handle the suspense any longer, she began to slowly creep up the embankment until she was able to hide behind the abutment.  Emma pulled the dark toque further down over her blonde hair before she peeked out from behind the wing-wall.  There were two figures leaning casually against the parapet wall, looking out over the north end of the pond.  Between them were two duffel bags – one the size of Emma’s, and the second one more suited to carrying hockey gear.

More suited to holding the body of a little boy.

Emma’s mind immediately jumped to the image of Michael being stuffed into the bag, bound and gagged as he fought his captor.  She needed to find him and get him out of there.  He was definitely frightened.  He probably couldn’t breathe around the gag in the tight confines of the bag.  He surely had no idea what was going on.  

Or worse, she thought in a terrifying moment of clarity, Michael knew exactly what was happening to him.

_Hey!  Where’s Wendy?  What did you do wi…_

Emma wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to her before now – why Michael had chased after Malcolm Gold in the first place and why he thought the man knew his older sister.  He had always said he’d gotten separated from his siblings and they would come get him when they could leave, too.  

_Was that because they’d been taken by the Golds before he was in the system?_

Emma didn’t realize she had stood up and was moving towards the men on the bridge until Killian grabbed her from behind.  He hissed something in her ear as his hand clamped over her mouth.  She struggled as he lifted her off her feet.  Shouts from the men they were supposed to be watching echoed over the water.  Killian practically threw her down the embankment with a barked, “Stay put.”

Suddenly, the sound of fireworks erupted from everywhere and nowhere all at once.  It took Emma a moment for her brain to catch up – those were gunshots.

There was a volley of returned gunfire from just above her head and Emma absolutely panicked.  Killian was shooting towards where _Michael_ presumably was.  He might have realized the boy was there, but as much as she wanted to trust him, she also trusted that his first priority was capturing Gold’s minion alive.

The cold metal gripped in her hand suddenly felt ten times heavier, ten times more dangerous, ten times more _real_.  She closed her eyes for a moment, steeling her nerves to ignore Killian’s order and move back up to the bridge.

It was in that brief interlude that her other senses heightened.  She could smell the earthy aroma of the dirt and leaves under her knees, feel the cool breeze that tickled her skin and ruffled her hair, taste her lip gloss as she bit her lip.

And she clearly heard the muffled grunt and the quiet, distressed exclamation in a _British_ accent that grumbled into the night.

Emma had come to know that voice in any situation.  She’d heard him angry, heartbroken, exasperated, and dripping in sarcasm.  She liked the sound of his laugh and hid a smirk when his voice was dripping in innuendo.

She was _not_ fond of the sound of him in pain.

Emma scrabbled up the embankment on her hands and knees, desperate to get to Killian’s side and see how badly he’d been injured.  She could just make out his shadow, slumped against the rock wall she had hidden behind just moments ago.  He wasn’t returning fire as bullets ricocheted off the stone.

When she finally reached his side, Killian had his right hand clamped tightly to his side, his gun balanced on his thigh.  His face was pinched with pain, his eyes were clamped shut, and his skin was white.  The light from the lantern highlighted the muscle in his jaw as it twitched in protest to how tightly his jaw was clenched.

Emma grasped his shoulder, careful not to make any more noise than he did in the deafening silence that followed the cessation of bullets flying through the air.

Killian jumped, tore his hand away from his side, and had the gun pointed between her eyes before she could blink.

Her hand tightened in response, even as her breathing stalled and her heart skipped several beats.  She refused to let go, to move, to blink.  His blue eyes pierced through her, and Emma saw the moment recognition set in.

“Emma.”  

No sound came from his mouth, but she could read her name on his lips anyway.  She nodded and caught his weapon before it could fall to his leg again.  Killian’s arm wrapped around his torso once more.

The crack of a bullet shattered the glass above them, and suddenly they were shrouded in darkness.  Emma leaned over him to peer out onto the bridge when she heard footsteps fleeing back into the night.

There was nothing left on the bridge – no men, no duffel bags, nothing but autumn leaves dancing in the wind.

“We need to go.  Emma, we need to get out of here.”  Killian’s breathless voice rang through the night as if he’d shouted and she flinched.

“You’re hurt,” she pointed out superfluously, unable to truly process the situation.

Killian laughed humorlessly, struggling against her hold as he pushed to his feet with a gasp.  He leaned heavily back against the pillar, his head bowed for a moment.

“Aye,” he whispered tightly, as if speaking more freely would hurt.  “I’m aware.”

Emma braced Killian against the stones, supporting his weight as she traced the length of his arm with her hand.  She had just enough time to register the wet stickiness as it covered her hand before he shoved her away abruptly.  

“Not here.”  His voice was stronger now, but the tinge of pain colored her a stark picture.  “It’s just a graze.  Love, we need to go.  Now.”

“Killian, you need an ambul…” she trailed off as he stood to his full height.  “You’ve been shot.”

He wiped his left hand over his face, sighing exasperatedly.  “Bloody hell, Swan.  I know.”

Without another word, he lurched forward, stumbling back towards the hotel.  Emma watched him sway drunkenly for a few steps before she let out a sigh of her own and ducked under his right arm.  She snaked her hand beneath his jacket so she could grasp as his side tightly, lending her strength to his at stopping the bleeding.  The familiar weight of his arm over her shoulder settled her nerves a bit when the blood leaking through her fingers threatened to bring up her dinner.  Together, they squeezed at the wound in his flank as they slowly moved across the park.

It had been a short walk from their hotel to the park – no more than a few minutes of a leisurely stroll down the streets of Manhattan, arm in arm, and then along the path to the bridge.  But now, in the early hours of the morning, when the streets were far less crowded than they had been a few hours before, it seemed to take ages to make the trek.  Killian was leaning heavily on her, his hitched breaths jarringly loud in her ear with every step .  Her left hand was pressing as strongly as she could against his own, her right clenched around his hand on her shoulder.

He was holding onto her fingers just as tightly.

Truth be told, the assuredness of his grip was comforting.  The strength in that grip countered every stumble, every grunt of pain he couldn’t quite bite back as they hit an uneven step in the grass and on the sidewalk.  

As long as he was holding on then she could, too.

They finally made it up to the suite, thankfully unaccosted by Adella or anyone else.  Emma maneuvered them into the bathroom and let Killian lean heavily on the vanity.  His knuckles were white as he gripped the marble counter.

His eyes met her own in the mirror.  “First aid kit’s in...”  

But Emma was already moving out of the room.  

“Y-your duffel.”  Her voice shook a little as she cut him off.  

“Don’t pass out,” she ordered as she raced from the room.

She found the bag quickly and raced back to find Killian straddling the side of the bathtub, his jacket and shirts pooled in the tub.  Emma was momentarily stupefied by the sheer amount of red in the otherwise white room.  It streaked down the wall above him where he must have slid down to sit, soaked the towel folded behind his back, dripped from his side down to the tub, and mixed with the water that ran down the drain.  He was running a cloth under the faucet, trying to clean himself up, the hand that clutched his side stained red as well.

“Let me do that.  Lean back.”  Their fingers tangled as she pried the terrycloth from him, and Emma wanted nothing more than to hold tight – to ground herself against the storm of emotions that buffeted her like a boat caught against a jetty.  She sat down between his knees and tried to focus on wiping the blood from his side instead of the way they were both trembling.

When she could see the round wound in his side, Emma gasped.  “Killian!  This is way worse than a graze.  The bullet went _into_ you, here.  You…”

“Came out there.  That’s the exit wound, love.  Entry’s around back.”  Emma’s head shot up to meet his gaze.  She was surprised at how washed-out his face looked.  In just the few minutes since they’d gotten into the suite, he had turned frighteningly pale.  There was a sheen of sweat covering his brow and his upper lip, and his eyes were dulled with the pain.

“Oh God.  We need to stop the bleeding, you look awful.  Do I need to…” she gulped, “cauterize it?  We can use gunpowder, right?  I saw that in a movie once.  Or heat up a knife?  Or…”  She could hear how shrill her voice was getting, but she couldn’t make it stop.

Killian had other ideas.  “Don’t you _dare_.  We’re not burning my skin, thank you, Swan.”

“But…”  Emma gestured wildly at his side.  There was still blood seeping out of the wound.

He grabbed her hand and pushed a dry towel into it.  “I got lucky.  I’d say it’s a .38 or a .357, but it’s far enough to the side that I don’t think it hit anything important.  Another half inch to the left and it would have missed me completely.  It’ll stop bleeding soon.  It just needs a couple of stitches.”

Emma was already shaking her head.  His voice was so breathy, so pinched.  He needed to be in a hospital with people who had the qualifications to look after him and medicine and half an idea of what to do.  He didn’t expect _her_ to stitch him up, did he?  She couldn’t.  Drag a needle through his skin and hope that she did it right?

But there was no one else.  Surely, she didn’t really expect _him_ to stitch himself up.  Emma dug around in the first aid kit, looking for the sewing kit she had seen in there.

“Grab the bottle labeled Dermabond, and the antibiotics.  We’ll need both of those.”

She did, grabbing the bottle of Percocet as well.  Killian crunched two of those between his teeth, knocking his head back against the wall when he swallowed.  He rested there for a minute while Emma threaded a needle.  Her hands were shaking violently, but she managed.

Killian’s blood-stained hand covered her own when she continued to stare at the point of the metal.  He gently prised the needle from her hand and dropped it into the plate of rubbing alcohol at his feet.  “I’ll do that, love.  I just need you to glue the hole in my back.  I can’t quite reach.”

Emma nodded, mortified to find a tear tracking down her cheek.  She smiled in spite of herself when Killian wiped it away.  “Always a gentleman,” she whispered.

“Aye, love.  Although I’ll apologize in advance for my language in a minute.”  He smiled back at her before shooing her back so he could lift his foot and sit facing into the tub.  She grasped his shoulder when she thought he was going to pitch forward.  Instead, he slumped bonelessly, bracing himself with his elbows on his knees and his chin to his chest.

Emma stood behind him, her gaze drawn to the small hole between his ribs.  It wasn’t much bigger around than a pencil.  “Okay, what do I do?”

Killian had her clean the wound with alcohol, biting back curses and trembling with each swipe.  Then she grabbed the Dermabond at his instruction.  She followed his directions as he spoke.  “Pinch the wound closed, Swan, and draw a line of the glue across it.  Make sure it’s a thick line, but leave a small opening for the wound to drain.  Hold it for a minute.  There, see?  It’s just like supergluing anything else.”

With that taken care of, Emma released the skin and taped a non-adherent pad over the wound.  She squeezed his shoulder, letting her thumb draw circles on his skin to ground them both.  His hand came up to grab her fingers and he leaned back against her for a moment.  He was clammy and shivering, and when she dropped her other hand to his hair, it was soaked.  “Killian…”

“I’ll be all right.  Maybe you could go find me something to drink, aye?  I bought some orange juice this morning, I could probably use that.”

_Had that only been this morning?_

Emma allowed herself another moment to breathe, run her fingers through his hair, and reassure herself that he was _there_.  When he pulled away, she did as well.  “Are you sure?  I could probably…”

“I’m sure.  It’s not the first time.”  The unspoken _it won’t be the last_ echoed through the small room.

Emma almost turned back when she heard a loud ‘thud’ from the room, but the string of colorful curses – some, she was sure were in another language – kept her on task.

It only took her a moment to pour a glass of juice and grab a packet of crackers from the cabinet as well.  She stood outside the bathroom door listening to him mutter under his breath.  The sound of tape being pulled off the roll let her know he was done stitching himself up, and she opened the door.

“Another… moment, if you will, love.  I just need to… just a moment.”  Killian said breathlessly and Emma froze half in, half out of the room.  She could see the mirror and its reflection.  He was slumped over on the floor, leaning back against the tub with his right hand gripping his hair.  His eyes and jaw were clamped shut and his face was ghastly pale.  Emma could see the visible rise and fall of his shoulders as he gasped through the pain.  She stepped back as quietly as she could in case he opened his eyes.

“All right, let’s see what you’ve found for me.”

He managed to swallow a few crackers, taking small sips of the juice in between, but his pallor was becoming ashier with every bite.  When he lunged for the toilet, clutching his side as he vomited, Emma automatically ran her hand over his back.

“I think you need to leave, Swan.”

She started at the abrupt tone.  “Oh, umm, right.  I’ll just go and find you a new shirt and…”

“No, I mean you need to _leave_.  I’ll call Liam and he can get Gadget to fly you back to Boston.”  Killian didn’t lift his head, still staring at the porcelain.

“What?”  It wasn’t so much a whisper as an exhalation of breath, but from the way his shoulders tensed, Emma knew he understood her.

Killian rose slowly to his feet and shepherded her out of the bathroom.  She followed him silently as he shuffled into her bedroom, watched as he struggled to lift her duffel bag from the floor, and tried to process him shoving her sleep shirt and shorts into a pocket.  One of the satellite phones rested on top of the rest of her clothes, but he just zipped it inside with the rest of her gear.

“I don’t understand.”

Killian turned and waved wildly at the bag on the bed.  It seemed that picking it up once was the limit of his strength.  Robotically, Emma hefted it over her shoulder and followed him to the living room.  She dropped it again on the kitchen table, still not sure what was happening.  With his back to her, she could see the slight pink tinge on the gauze she’d taped to his back, and was proud to see that he wasn’t bleeding much from the wound she’d closed.  That pride was short-lived, however, when Killian turned to face her with a stormy expression on his face.

The hint of pain in his eyes was probably _just_ from the bullet wound in his side.

Probably.

“You’ve become a liability, lass.  I need you to go home.”  It was the reasonable tone that set her off.  He didn’t sound angry, he didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.  It almost seemed like he didn’t really care.

_Emma_ certainly cared.  About far too many things.  “Like hell I’m going home.  I’m in this just as much as you are, Jones.  I’m…”  He cut her off before she could even get started.

“You’re going.”  He reached for the other satellite phone – the one he’d been charging by the couch he’d slept on the previous night.

Emma slapped it out of his hand before he could hit a single button.  “I don’t know what’s going through that head of yours, but I’m not going anywhere.  You need me here.  Michael needs me.”

She was quicker than he was, grabbing the phone from where it had landed and keeping it out of his reach.  She could see minute tremors running through his muscles, the sheen of sweat covering him reacting with the cool temperature of the room to give him goosebumps.  He needed to be in a bed, not arguing a lost cause with her.  It didn’t seem to dissuade him from continuing, though.

“I survived a long time without you here to help.  And I certainly don’t need the kind of help you gave me at the bridge.  What happened to listening to me?  What happened to _not putting yourself at risk_?”  He took two steps forward, towering over her as he did so.

Emma took a step forward of her own, putting herself close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.  “I _never_ said I wouldn’t put myself at risk.  I was trying to get to Michael.”

“You don’t even know he was there.  That was our best chance at getting to Gold.  At getting to…”

She shoved him, hard, too incensed to feel bad about the way the remaining color drained from his face.  “I told you I don’t _care_ about Gold.  If Michael was in that bag, I could have gotten him.  I could have…”

Killian stumbled, just able to catch himself on the armrest before he could cut her off again.  She barely noticed that he didn’t straighten up again.  “You could have gotten yourself _killed_.  What good would you be to the boy then?  You think I would have just let them walk out of there with him?  You think that little of me?”  He paused, gritting his teeth before he turned away from her.

His next words were soft, broken.  “If you truly think that, then you know _nothing_ about me.”

Emma shook her head.  That wasn’t what she meant.  Of _course_ he cared about Michael - she _knew_ that.  There was something going on here, something that tickled at her subconscious, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Killian continued before she could ferret out what was off.  His voice, his words, were cold.  “You’ve been going around playing at spies the last few days and you’ve been nothing but a distraction.”  

_That_ got her attention.  “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

He smirked, but it was a cruel look, and it sent a shiver down her spine.  “I know it’s an exciting life, but there are real-world consequences here, lass.  This isn’t some game where you can hit the reset button if the hero dies.  Out here we deal with real bullets and real lives.”

Emma’s breath was coming in quick pants, she didn’t understand what was going on.  What she _did_ understand was the way her heart seemed to freeze at his lack of familiarity.  She didn’t remember when he’d started calling her ‘love’, but she’d gotten used to it, and his sudden switch to ‘lass’ was almost as if he was distancing himself from her, and it stung in a way she wasn’t prepared for.  

“You think I _don’t know that_?” she hissed.  “You got _shot_ tonight.  You think that I don’t understand that?  I wanted you to go to the _hospital_.  I wanted you to get looked at.  You’re the one who insisted we come back here.”

“I’m the one who had a _bullet_ tear through my side because I was too worried about you!  I’d never have been exposed if I wasn’t looking out for _you_.”  He clutched at the wound tightly as his voice rose.

“Killian, I’m sorry.  I…”

“No.  Sorry isn’t enough.  You stick around and you’re going to get us both killed.  You have no idea what’s going on around you, you’re just another obstacle that’s keeping me from saving your boy.  Keeping me from taking down a dangerous organization that’s hurt countless people over the years.  I don’t know if you get off on this, but it’s going to stop now.  You’ve had your fun, now it’s time to go back home and let the professionals take care of this.”

Emma gaped.  “Take care of this?  Like you’ve done?  How long have you been searching for them?  You think you can do it alone, but it looks like you haven’t done much better than I have.”

“God damn it, princess.  Don’t you understand?  You’re nothing but a burden and it’s dragging me down and I don’t _want_ you here.”  Emma’s lie detector finally blared to life, but she was too wound up to care.

“I’m just as invested in this as you are and I’m staying.  There’s nothing that you can do about it.  You think getting me to leave will solve your problem?  I’ll just track them down myself.”  Emma was positive that there was nothing he could say to get her to leave.

“I don’t know what help you think you are, but you aren’t.  You’re useless.”

Emma couldn’t breathe.  Not with the flippant way he’d spoken.  In the heat of the fight, she might have believed he was throwing anything at her, but that one had hurt.

He dug in the knife a little bit more.  “You’re just going to get Michael killed.”  

Emma slapped him across the face, oddly pleased with the way his head snapped to the side.  She hauled her duffel bag up over her shoulder and stalked out the door without a backwards glance.  She pulled at the handle with all of her might as she slammed it behind her, relishing in the echo of it as it reverberated down the hall.  

She was far too furious to notice the muffled thump Killian’s body made when it hit the floor as he passed out in the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?


	14. Sutures without Anesthetic

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

Emma stormed down the stairs, too angry to wait for the elevator.  How _dare_ he throw Michael’s life into whatever that argument had even been about?  Given a few moments to collect herself, she knew better than to take it at face value – Killian had been lying through his teeth most of the time he’d had his mouth moving.  But it didn’t make the words hurt any less – didn’t make her doubt herself any less.  Killian _was_ right, to an extent.  Emma knew that.  She _was_ out of her element in this world of guns and satellite phones, of mystery and intrigue.  But that didn’t mean Killian could talk down to her like he did.  His pain was no excuse for his callous attitude.

For the hurtful words he threw at her.

Emma flopped down in one of the chairs in the lounge, throwing the satellite phone down on the table in front of her.  She had no intention of giving up on Michael, but if Killian didn’t want her there, she was just going to have to find another way to track the boy down.  Contrary to what the idiot upstairs thought, Killian’s first priority would always be the bigger picture.  She understood that.  Gold was dangerous, he needed to be stopped.  At all costs.

But Michael couldn’t afford that – Emma wouldn’t let him become an acceptable loss.

The buzzing of the phone on the table interrupted her thoughts and Emma stabbed at the buttons until it was quiet.

Almost immediately, her duffel bag started buzzing.

Emma kicked at it viciously, realizing the rashness of that move only after her foot connected – her gun was wrapped in a shirt in the main compartment.  

But at least the phone stopped vibrating.

The lounge was quiet, thankfully.  The only other patron occupying the space was a young man who seemed to be asleep in one of the chairs.  Emma was suspicious of him since he might be one of the Lost Boys, but as long as he stayed to his side of the room, she could ignore him.  She didn’t think he’d have anything useful to report to Gold, anyway.

_You’re useless._

_You’re just going to get Michael killed._

_Dragging me down._

_I don’t want you here._

Killian’s words ran through her head on an endless loop.  She’d thought he might be different – thought Killian might actually _be_ the gentleman he purported himself to be.  She knew he didn’t believe what he was saying.  But regardless of whether or not the words had rung true for Killian, they had struck a chord in _her_.

How many times had she been tossed to the curb now?  Her birth parents, then the Swans, then countless foster families she’d forgotten the names of - or hadn’t bothered to learn in the first place.  Neal.  Now Killian.

_Killian_.

Her heart clenched painfully as she reluctantly added his name to the list.  Emma had really thought… she’d really let herself _hope_ that he would be different.  But in the end, it was just one more person who’d proven to her that she wasn’t worth lov… caring about.  

Maybe there really was something wrong with _her._

The phone on the table buzzed again, and Emma ignored it.  There were only two people who had the number to both phones.  One of them was upstairs being stubborn, and the other was his older brother.

Emma wasn’t in the mood to deal with either of the “Brothers Jones”.

But she knew Killian wouldn’t have called her, not when he clearly wanted her gone, so it must be his self-righteous brother.

Knowing who it was didn’t stop Liam from calling repeatedly, and with every ring, Emma’s patience wore just a little thinner.  When the phone vibrated off the table and thudded to the carpet, the sleeping man cracked open an eye and glared at her.

Exasperated, she finally connected the call.  “What do you want, Liam?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.  “Miss Swan?  May I please speak to my brother?”

Emma almost hung up on him.  “No.  The jackass is busy upstairs pretending he’s Batman and Superman all rolled into one.  What do you need?”

The pause this time was even longer.  When Liam spoke again, there was no trace of authority in his voice, just raw concern.  “Is Killian all right?”

She sighed.  The fact that the younger Jones was being bullheaded was no reflection on his brother at the moment.  Taking her frustration out on Liam wasn’t fair.  

“Apparently he wasn’t shot anywhere vital or something ridiculous like that, so he’s just peachy.  He…” her anger faded and familiar hurt coiled tightly around her heart. _Useless, unwanted, unloved._  “He told me to leave.”

Emma could hear the brother being shoved back inside a box and the leader re-emerging when he asked, “Where are you, Emma?  Are you safe?”

She side-eyed the young man in the lounge again.  He was acting entirely too nonchalantly not to be watching her.  Her voice shook just a little as she answered.  “I don’t know.”

“Can you speak freely?”

“No.”  That much she _was_ sure of.

The authority in Liam’s voice came back with a vengeance.  “Go back to my brother, lass.   _Now_.  Whatever’s going through his thick skull, he’ll not shirk your safety.  If you want to come home, we’ll arrange it, but stay with him until then.”

“I can’t leave.  Not without…”

He was silent for a minute.  Resignation battled with acceptance.  “Of course you can’t.  All right, odds are Killian will come around, but if he doesn’t, I’ll assign you another agent.  Just get somewhere safe until then.”

He stayed on the phone with her until she reached the door to the suite.  Emma’s eyes darted up and down the hall constantly, her pulse pounding in her ears and drowning out Liam’s assurances.  It took her three times to insert the key into the lock, but when she finally dropped her bag inside, she couldn’t stop her cry of, “Killian!”

The phone clattered to the floor as she stared at him, crumpled on the floor not three steps from where she’d seen him last.  Emma rushed to his side, dropping to her knees and reaching shakily for his neck.  She held her breath while she waited for the telltale ‘thump thump’ under her fingers.

Emma’s whole body trembled in relief when it was there, steady and constant.

She shook her head, blowing out the last of the adrenaline in a heaving sigh.  Only then did Liam’s panicked voice, tiny as it was through the phone across the room, register with her.  

He could wait a minute.

Emma was sorely tempted to ignore Killian’s repeated warnings from earlier against calling 911.  But she was positive, now, that one of Gold’s men was downstairs waiting for the opportunity to strike.  This was a somewhat safe place – defensible at least.

It didn’t escape Emma’s notice that she wouldn’t have been able to process that thought just a few weeks ago.

Pushing that fear to the side, Emma focused on Killian.  She expected to find torn stitches and blood pouring from him when her eyes tracked down to his side – but while there was a spot of red on the white gauze pad, it wasn’t soaked through.  Reaching for the phone finally, she waited until Liam took a breath before she called out, “He’s passed out.  What do I do now?”

* * *

Killian woke with fire racing through his side where the bullet had pierced him, sluggish reflexes, and what felt like a mouth full of cotton.  He was surprised to find himself in the bed - he couldn’t remember much past the anguished and furious look in Emma’s eyes as she slammed the door.  Sharp pain shot through of him when he remembered that he’d sent her away.  That he was alone, again.

That he’d lost her.

Ignoring that, Killian tried to remember what happened next.  He vaguely remembered the buzzing in his ears, the way his vision had started to grey out even before Emma had left.

He’d been certain that he was going to wake up on the floor.

If he woke up at all.

His senses were dulled by the haze of unconsciousness that still clung to him and threatened to send him back under.  Killian wanted nothing more than to oblige his body’s need, but movement to his left startled him to full awareness.  

He’d thought he was alone in the room.   _Rookie mistake, Jones_ , he berated himself.

The first thing Killian saw was the muzzle of a gun pointed at him.  He was chagrined to recognize it as his own weapon.  Adrenaline coursed quickly through his system and muted the pain in favor of tensing for movement.  His eyes tracked up the weapon to the arm, and further up until he locked gazes with a very unimpressed Emma Swan.

Killian’s breath whooshed out of him and the pain returned with a vengeance.  The resulting drop in adrenaline was going to leave him shaky in a moment.

“You’re an idiot.”  Emma shook her head, then gestured vaguely back towards the living room.  “You’re also heavy.”

Ah, so he _had_ wound up on the floor.  

But he’d told Emma to leave.  Killian had hurt her on purpose and hurled such derogatory marks at her that she should be halfway back to Boston by now.

What was she doing here?

He couldn’t help the powerful feeling of relief that she had stayed.  It shouldn’t be that way, he should be angry or afraid.  He’d _wanted_ her to get away from him, to go somewhere she’d be safe even if it meant he’d lose any chance of being with her.

But she’d stayed.  She’d come back.  To him.  And he was relieved.  

It was a powerful, terrifying thought.

Emma pulled the barrel of the gun away from where it was trained between his eyes and laid it within easy reach on the arm of the chair she had been keeping vigil in.  He noticed that she hadn’t flicked the safety back on.  

Before he could speak, she continued.  “Your brother said the first thing I should ask you is, and I quote, ‘ambulance, hospital, or home’.  I don’t know how _any_ of those are an option at the moment, but he said to ask you exactly that.”

She glared at him, and Killian wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak.  She sounded furious and he wasn’t about to risk increasing her ire.

He flinched when she spit out, “So?”  The scathing tone in that one word proved that he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

Killian thought for another moment, his fingers raised minimally off his chest in supplication lest she further lose patience with him.  He methodically catalogued the damage he had ignored at first sign of consciousness.  A bit lethargic, but not dangerously so.  Chilled but not feverish.  His arm was capable of movement without pulling at his side too much, even if the stitches he’d hastily and clumsily sewn into the flesh were protesting.  No fresh blood soaked through the bandage that was taped far more neatly than he remembered doing himself.

He _should_ be in a hospital, he wasn’t naive enough to not know that.  But he didn’t _need_ to be in one.  That would suffice.

“Home.  I would tell Liam ‘home’.”

He thought he heard a scoff, but dismissed it.  A split second later, though, Killian was startled by the tinny sound of his brother’s voice.  “Do you believe him, lass?”

The satellite phone on the windowsill provided the source of Liam’s annoyed tenor.

Killian held still under her scrutiny.

“He’s telling the truth.  He wasn’t before, but he is now.”  Her eyes narrowed and Killian knew that they would be having _that_ conversation in private.

“I’ll leave him to you then, Emma.”  Killian heard the click of the connection being cut and he gulped.

Emma glared at him before standing up and pacing the length of the room.  “We need to talk.”

There was a shot of trepidation that coursed down Killian’s spine.  He prided himself in being a gentleman, sometimes toeing the line from time to time, but always erring on the side of chivalry.  But this time, he knew he’d purposely leapt over that line with both feet, trying to hurt her to save her, and now he had to accept the consequences.  “I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

Killian was ashamed to realize he physically recoiled as she stalked over to him and sat on the bed near his hip.  He had been trained better than to flinch like that.

She smirked balefully at him, tightening her eyes and shaking her head.  But she didn’t speak, choosing instead to reach out and worry at the tape on his skin – alternating between picking at a corner and smoothing it flat.  He grimaced as it pulled at the tiny hairs trapped underneath.

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.  Of all the things he expected her to toss at him, that wasn’t one of them.  Emma’s fingers ghosted over the skin covering his ribs as she traced the bandage again, the soothing touch light enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.  

Killian felt a little bit like a mouse being stalked by a cat.

“I expect I’ll live.”  The tinge of wariness that colored his response couldn’t be helped.  Lying flat on his back in bed with nothing more substantial as armor than the sheet that covered him to the waist and the sweatpants that were tied low on his hips, there were few times in his life where Killian had felt more vulnerable.

Emma stared at him for another minute, and he had to fight the urge to squirm under the scrutiny.  He was a well-seasoned agent, he should be better than this.

But Killian also knew how thoroughly he had screwed up with her.  He’d had the best of intentions, and he hadn’t actually meant a single insult that he’d hurled in a last ditch effort to keep her safe when she wouldn’t give in and _go_.  When Emma had gone barreling into danger on the bridge, Killian’s heart had leapt into his throat, almost choking him in his fear.  

She could have been hurt.  She could have been _killed_.  God forbid, he could have had to watch Emma bleed out in his arms, helpless to do anything but reassure her in her last moments.

And now, to top it all off, _he_ was the one who was injured.  It didn’t bother him - being shot.  It wasn’t the first time, and it most assuredly wouldn’t be the last.  He wasn’t even angry that it was because of Emma that he had two holes in his side, that she hadn’t thought before she’d run headlong into danger.  Killian knew he would have done the same thing if it had been John in that bag.  Or if it had been Emma.

_God_ , what if it had been _her_?

So while Killian had sat in the bathroom, pulling thread through his flesh for the umpteenth time, he’d fixated on the idea that the bullet that had torn through his side could have just as easily buried itself inside _her_.  That he could be working with shaking fingers, trying to knit _Emma_ back together.

All because he couldn’t protect her.  

From Gold.  From the men on the bridge.  

From herself.

And now, he could barely lift his arm without breaking out in a cold sweat.  Killian _had_ to go after Gold; he had to get Michael back for Emma.  

But he couldn’t lose her to his crusade.  He couldn’t lose her to the Golds’ vengeful ways.  

He’d sooner give them a free pass than see her hurt even more by Malcolm or Robert.

So he’d told her to leave.

Killian should have known she’d be more than stubborn about the whole thing.  But he’d locked onto the idea that he could protect Emma by hurting her.  That he could save her even if it cost him a future with her.   _He_ didn’t matter; his _happiness_ didn’t matter.  

It wouldn’t mean anything if he lost her before he could have her.

And despite it all, Emma had come back to him.  She’d found him passed out on the floor, and she’d taken care of him.  She must have struggled with his dead weight and she gave him her bed instead of leaving him crumpled in a heap.  Even that was more than he deserved.  Before tonight, Killian could count on one finger the number of people in his life who would do that for him.

And now, Emma was sitting on the side of his bed, still there and still taking care of him.  

He didn’t understand.

“Why did you do it?”  Killian didn’t even realize he’d spoken out loud until her fingers stilled on his skin, the warmth of her touch a comfort he didn’t deserve.  “Why did you come back?”

Emma wouldn’t meet his gaze, her voice wavering when she whispered, “There was a man downstairs.  I don’t know if he’s one of Gold’s, but I got scared and Liam said that I’d be safe here.”

Killian’s heart shattered.  Of course she hadn’t come back for him.  

What was he _thinking_?

But still.  He had a job to do and he’d give his life to make sure she was safe.  Liam was right about sending her back to him.

Killian struggled to sit up, resolutely ignoring the sharp pain that erupted from his side as he swung around to get out of bed.

Emma shoved him right back down onto the soft mattress, and he was mildly alarmed at how little effort she had to put into doing so.  “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

It took Killian longer than he’d like to catch his breath.  His fingers gripped the sheets with a white-knuckled grasp until the fire in his side died down.  His voice still came out with a painful rasp.  “Trying to…”

“Shut up.  Just shut up and stay put.  I didn’t drag you into this bed just so you could do something stupid and pass out _again_.”  Emma’s hand didn’t leave his chest, and he relished the feeling.  But she was angry, and he deserved it.  Killian could see her shoulders rise and fall in attempt to get her temper under control.

He didn’t dare move.

Emma glared at him, and then seethed, “I don’t know what the hell that was earlier, but you don’t get to talk until I say.”  Her voice was quiet, and all the more powerful for it.

Killian nodded, his attention solely on her.  She was beautiful when she was angry.  Fierce and confident in a way that few could master.  

God, he was so screwed for this woman.

Emma stood up again and began to pace back and forth.  Killian couldn’t help but notice she was never out of reach, despite the distance she seemed to want to put between them.

Her voice was choked when she finally continued.  “You don’t have the right to tell me I’m useless.  You don’t get to lie to me like that.  I know you didn’t mean it, I _know_ you were lying, but it doesn’t excuse it.  It makes it worse.  Because I’m not nothing.  I was _never_ nothing, and you don’t get to tell me otherwise.  I’ve had too many people in my life tell me that, and I refuse to add you to that list.  You were supposed to be different.  You were supposed to… to…” she trailed off.

“I was supposed to what, Swan?”  Killian whispered the question as he slowly levered himself into a sitting position.  His bare feet thudded heavily on the carpet when he swung his legs off the mattress.  He caught her hand as she stalked by him and intertwined their fingers.

Emma glared at him, but he could see the tears building in the corners of her eyes.  Killian expected her to rip her hand away.  But she surprised him, like she’d done every day since they had met.  Her fingers tightened around his own and Killian could feel her trembling.  “I was supposed to what?  To protect you?  To keep you safe?  I’ve been _trying_.  I don’t know how else to do that.  I need you to tell… I need to know where I stand with you.  I need to know what it is I was supposed to do.”

Emma stepped closer to him, trapping his knee between her own.  She towered over him and he was terrified of what was going to come out of her mouth next.

“You were supposed to _care_ about me.”

Killian couldn’t breathe.  Didn’t she _know_?  “Of course I _care_ , Emma.  God, I tried not to, but I _do_ care.  Too much, probably.  If you asked it of me, Emma, I would give it all up.  I’ve been trying to avenge John for so long, but I’d put it aside for you.  If it came down to a choice between getting Michael back for you and ending this?  Ending their _tyranny_? I’d grab the boy and we’d run far from any mention of Peter Pan or Rumplestiltskin or the Golds.”  

Killian shook his head, surprising even himself.  He shrugged, looking up at her helplessly.  “It’s you, Emma.  It’s you.”

He watched, transfixed, as a solitary tear carved a path down her cheek until it dripped off her chin and landed on his skin.  It burned.  Killian felt as though he’d been branded by her, and as her arms wrapped around his neck, he was helpless to do anything but reach for her shakily, hesitantly tugging her closer by her hips.  She sank down until she was straddling his knee, staring at him and searching for the truth behind his words.  Carefully, Killian steadied her with his left hand gripping the shirt at her back as if to reassure himself that she was really there.  He raised his other hand to her cheek.  With his thumb, he wiped away the trail the tear had left on her face.

It seemed to break the dam and more followed in the first tear’s wake.  His heart broke.

He had done this to her.

“I’m here, Emma, Killian whispered as he curled his fingers in her hair.  She sniffled and it tore at him a bit, but Killian would do his best to fix it.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  

Emma bit her lip and he could see her hiding her emotions behind the tough facade he had come to know well.

“You can’t do that again,” she whispered fiercely.  “I won’t be burned twice.”

Killian nodded.  He could feel the weariness settling over him, and knew he needed to rest.  He wouldn’t give in until he knew she was all right - that they were okay.  “I won’t, love.  And I’ll get you your boy back.  I swear I will.”

Emma graced him with a watery smile before she buried her face in his neck, holding on almost tighter than Killian could stand.  He ignored the pull of the wounds in his side as he clutched her to his chest.  She cried silently into his neck, and his heart broke just a little bit more.  His hand soothed circles into her back until he couldn’t sit up any longer and he slowly slumped back into the bed, pulling Emma with him.

He expected her to recoil, to jump up from the bed and retreat.  But she was full of surprises, his Swan, and she simply settled herself at his side, careful not to jostle him too much.  Killian could feel the pull of sleep, was half convinced that this was already a dream concocted by the mix of painkillers and antibiotics.  Maybe an infection-fueled delirium.  But when Emma moved closer to him, staring down with the tiniest of smiles gracing her features, he was lost.  Her fingers carded through his hair and she closed the distance between them.

Emma’s lips were soft, gentle with a hesitance that made Killian reach up to tangle his own fingers in her hair.  He wanted to tug the elastic free, but wasn’t sure he could manage it, so he settled for gripping the base of her ponytail and guiding her to deepen the kiss.  Emma gave as good as she got, nipping at his lip and demanding control until he couldn’t resist the pull between them any longer.

Without thinking, Killian moved to roll them over, but the sharp stab of pain in his side tore him back to reality.  His hand gripped below the gauze and the stifled cry of pain brought Emma’s gaze to his abruptly.

“Apologies, love.  But this might have to suffice for tonight.”  Killian grinned through the ache in his gut, wanting nothing more than to pick up where they left off.  She’d let him in tonight, and he was afraid that she’d run again, put up her walls, and shut him out.  He couldn’t take the rejection any more than she could handle his hurtful words from earlier.

But Emma just dropped her head to his shoulder and tugged the blanket around them both.  Her breath tickled his chest as she whispered, “I guess the bed is big enough, after all.”

Killian fell asleep to the sound of her steady breathing.

Hours later, the sun streaming through the window burned his eyes, and Killian wasn’t nearly ready to be awake.  He clenched his eyelids further shut and tried to drift back to sleep, but his other senses began to filter in.  The gunshot wound was burning, and he needed more painkillers.  Resigned to the inevitable, he tried to push himself off the bed.  But he was trapped in the best way possible.  

Emma’s head was still on his shoulder, and her even breaths ghosted across his chest.  One hand wrapped around his bicep while the other was draped across his ribs, the pinky finger on that hand resting just above the gauze.  Her knee fit neatly in between his own, her toes against his calf, and there was no way to move without waking her.

Smiling, the pain muted in the wake of his predicament, Killian buried his nose in her hair and pressed a small kiss into her scalp.  It wasn’t quite so hard to fall back to sleep now.

She wasn’t in bed the next time he woke up.  There were painkillers, antibiotics, and water waiting for him on the bedside table, but Emma was nowhere to be seen.  Killian would never admit it, but he pouted for a moment before the pain won out.

Killian swallowed the pills and dragged himself out of the bedroom.  There was a plate of food waiting for him on the kitchen table - which was now in the living room and shoved against the couch that was pushed against the door.  He had to stare at the makeshift barricade for a long moment before Emma’s words rang in his ears and he understood.

_There was a man downstairs.  I don’t know if he’s one of Gold’s, but I got scared._

Well, at least the man probably wasn’t going to interrupt them for the moment.  Not without some warning, anyway.

Emma was typing furiously on the laptop and Killian wasn’t entirely sure she knew he was there.  He sat gingerly at the table, eyeing the scrambled eggs with the same scrutiny he would regard a landmine.

“Where have you run into Gold before this?”  Her voice startled him and he looked up sharply.

Killian thought for a moment.  He had never run into Robert Gold specifically, but the rumors were that he was never far from his minions.  “Hong Kong and Shanghai.  Paris.”

Emma nodded knowingly with each city he mentioned.  Curious.

“Dubai?”  It was phrased as a question, but Killian was positive it wasn’t meant to be one.

“Aye, now that you mention it.”  Even more curious.  “How did you know?”

Emma turned to face him.  “Hear me out,” she pleaded.  

Killian nodded his acceptance.  “Your brother thought I was nuts, but I really think I’m onto something.  We’re all creatures of habit, right?  We may not realize it, but we crave familiarity.  It’s how I _always_ find my kids when they run away.”  Killian smiled.  Of course she did.

“Gold probably doesn’t even realize it, but he’s more comfortable when he has something he knows.”  Emma paused, looking unsure, and Killian nodded again.  With a small smile of thanks, she continued.  “Well, we know that the Golds are from St. Andrews in Scotland.  And there’s a _Pret A Manger_ right down the street from their home.”

Killian started.  He hadn’t thought of anything like this before.  “Every city you’ve run into the Golds has had one thing in common - these coffee shops.   _That’s_ how I knew about Dubai.  There were a few shops in Boston, some in DC, and now here.  And the only other city in the US that has _Pret_ ’s is Chicago.”

Emma looked up and waited until he met her gaze.  “I think that’s where he’s going next.  I think that might be where we can find them.  And if we can get ahead of them, maybe we can catch them.”

Killian stared at Emma for a moment.  He’d never thought it could be something that simple.  But it made perfect sense.  And he was a little bit pissed that Liam, smug bastard that he could be, apparently hadn’t listened to her.  Killian had been chasing the Golds for so long, always one step behind and playing catch up.  If they could get the upper hand just once, if they could be waiting for Gold when he showed his face…

If what Emma was saying was true, then they knew where Robert would be, and they could end all of this.

He could find the man responsible for everything - for John, for Teach’s treachery, for Liam having to give up his career to save Killian from himself.  For Michael, and for all of the pain the boy’s kidnapping had heaped on Emma.

He could get justice for them all, if she was right.

“Chicago it is.  I trust you, Swan.”


	15. Promises and Negotiations

 

   


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

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“I don’t expect you to understand, Liam, but we’re going to Chicago.”  Killian sighed as his brother continued berating him.  He and Emma were already in the car, so the argument was moot.  Killian was reclined slightly in the passenger’s seat in the only capitulation he would make to the gunshot wound he was trying to ignore.  It had been a long conversation with Liam already, everything from pulling them from the mission completely to sending Locksley and crew as a blanket clean-up of the whole mess.  And now his brother was asking for a sit-rep on where the intelligence for the move to Chicago had come from.  

To say that Liam’s language got _colorful_ at that point would be an understatement.

Emma turned up the radio to drown out the droning coming through the satellite phone, and Killian smirked at her.  Captain Liam Jones was above him in the chain of command, yes, but right now he wasn’t playing the part of commanding officer; he was playing the part of overbearing older brother.

And Killian was no longer eight years old being dressed down in the kitchen after another fight in the schoolyard.

When Liam finally came around to the realization that he _did_ trust Killian’s judgment regardless of how he’d made his decisions and Liam had given him free reign over the mission once again, the phone conversation became much smoother.  Supplies were requisitioned and living arrangements were solidified.  It took them over an hour on the phone, but Killian was confident that everything would be ready in Chicago.

Killian napped.  He hadn’t meant to, but the drive back to the airfield had been fraught with city traffic and the GPS could guide Emma back to Virginia.  He vaguely remembered transferring from the SUV to Gadget’s plane and thought he remembered the pilot telling them something about a modification she had made to the turbine that would improve the engine significantly.

Killian just hoped they didn’t crash.

Thankfully, the flight was short and incident free, and they were settled in a new hotel room within a few hours.  Emma puttered around, setting up the laptop and organizing the supplies with a familiarity that made Killian smile.  There was an unfamiliar tug in his gut when she didn’t hesitate before dropping both of their bags in the bedroom, throwing his sweatpants on one side of the king size mattress and her own pajamas on the other.

Killian could get used to this.

He hoped he’d have the opportunity to get used to this.

Together, they plotted out the location of the eight coffee shops in Chicago that Emma was sure Gold was subconsciously tied to.  With no solid leads and no companies in Chicago linked to the Gold conglomerate, they were essentially looking for a needle in a haystack – one made of needles.  There was no one option that looked better than the other, so there was little choice but to split up, station some cameras discreetly in the coffee shops, and hope for the best.

It sounded like a lot of waiting, and the look on Emma’s face at the prospect was comical.

Thankfully for her sanity and his dwindling patience, it didn’t take long.

Over the next few days of surveillance, they discovered that there were two shops within walking distance of each other that routinely catered to the caffeine fix of several of Gold’s men.  Emma’s plan was simple, and it would be effective – and Killian hated it.  They would each cover one of the locations, take advantage of the free WI-FI to blend into the populace of the shop, and try to trail one of the Lost Boys to their base of operations.

Killian wanted her safe.  He wanted her holed up in the hotel room, or better yet, under Liam’s watchful eye in Boston.

But he would never make the mistake of ordering her to stay out of the field again.  He’d panicked.  That night in the hotel room with a bullet wound in his side and the image of her bleeding out in front of him, he’d felt a fear so tangible, so visceral, at the thought of losing her that he hadn’t been able to stop the panic from overtaking him.  It wasn’t something he was proud of, and it wasn’t something he wished to repeat, but it was there all the same.  

Emma deserved better than his temper.

They’d spoken more in depth about his words and actions that night over the last few days, his apologies sincere and often, and Emma finally seemed to truly understand.

It didn’t stop him from worrying.

Late at night, with her curled into his side and breathing evenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways he could lose her.  The only thing that kept the terror at bay was the feel of her breaths on his chest, her hair slipping between his fingers, her skin soft and warm against his own.

But it still didn’t stop the worry.

They were on the third day of their surveillance in the shops, and while they’d both seen members of Gold’s organization, they’d been unable to follow them to any common location or determine any kind of pattern.

Killian took a deep breath, settling further into the corner of the booth at his assigned _Pret A Manger_ and continued typing nonsense into the laptop.  Emma would likely kill him in his sleep if she ever found out he’d stashed a new camera in her location specifically to keep an eye on her, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances.  He had a small video screen open to the side of the desktop where he could see her blonde head bent over her own computer.  Every now and again he saw her look up, but other than that, she appeared to be having a slow day.

He hoped her day only got more boring.

_His day_ , on the other hand, was about to get a lot more interesting.

The curly, light brown hair caught his attention first.  He wasn’t sure what it was about the woman in line that made him look up until she turned around with a mug of steaming liquid, looked right at him, and marched over to join his table.

“Killian Jones, what a surprise to see you here,” Celine – the new mother who had last been seen with Malcolm in Boston – didn’t sound surprised in the least.

He stared for a moment, trying to size up the situation as quickly as his brain could process.  Not only was this woman seemingly _not_ being held against her will, apparently she knew who Killian was and had clearly been sent after him.

Outwardly he recovered quickly, pouring on the charm even as he glanced at the computer screen.  Emma was safely sipping at her hot chocolate and had moved on to reading a book.  Inwardly, Killian was reeling.  He’d wanted to save this young woman.  He’d thought she was safe in the hospital only to find that Malcolm had gotten his grubby paws on her anyway.  Who knows where her child had ended up?  He’d failed her - them - utterly, and had added Celine and the newborn to the list of people he needed to avenge when he took down Robert Gold.  To see her sitting in front of him now, unharmed and unafraid - he wasn’t sure how to process that.

So Killian buried it deep to deal with later.

Smoothly, he reached out and said, “Apologies, lass, as I can’t say as though we’ve had the pleasure.  I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…”

She smiled coquettishly and took his outstretched hand.  “My name is Wendy.”

Her hand was clammy. So, not as unafraid as she appeared.  “Well what can I do for you, Wendy?”

“My boss would like a word with you,” she nodded towards the door.

Killian’s eyes shot upwards, but there was no one entering the shop.  “And who would that be, then?  I’m not in the habit of doing business with strangers.”

Wendy’s eyebrow rose incredulously.  “I think we both know that you are aware of who I work for.  Whether or not you want to… do business with him, you’re going to want to hear what he has to say.”

Robert Gold opened the door to the coffee shop right on cue - as if he had been listening to their conversation.  He swept into the building with such swagger that Killian almost didn’t notice the cane.  

Or the limp that accompanied it.

He did notice the neatly pressed suit, the platinum cufflinks, and the ostentatious Rolex watch.  Gold was a veritable walking bank and he was clearly not above flaunting it.

Killian despised him just a little bit more for the arrogance.

Wendy placed a hand on his thigh warningly just as Killian was standing up and reaching for his concealed weapon.  There was a look of abject terror in her eyes that belied the calm she had portrayed before.  He didn’t quite understand, but when Felix followed Gold in, Killian began to comprehend the gravity of the situation.  He had only seen the red-haired child for a moment in the alley, and the boy had been unconscious at that, but there was no mistaking Emma’s Michael as he stood hunched at Felix’s side.  Killian could just make out the white knuckles in the boy’s hands where they clutched at his arms as if hugging himself for comfort, and he saw red.  

No child should know that much fear.

Killian shut the top of the computer with a last glance at Emma, his steely gaze then locking onto the people in front of him.

Barely able to call on all his years of training, Killian resisted the urge to leap across the room and throttle Gold.  Instead he kept his seat, but pulled the gun from its holster and held it loosely under the table, thumbing off the safety as he did so.  His eyes tracked his prey as they crossed the room until they stood in front of his table.

Felix had a gun buried in Michael’s armpit, the safety off and his finger just barely brushing the trigger.

Up close, Killian could see the red marks around the boy’s mouth where he had clearly been gagged, the shadow of a bruise peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and the terror in his eyes.  Any thoughts of turning the situation to his advantage flew out the window with Michael in immediate mortal danger.  He watched balefully as Felix slid both he and the boy into the booth.  Killian was aware of Gold lowering himself into a chair, but his eyes never left Felix’s hand.

The barrel of the gun slid down to stick in Michael’s ribs, and the boy shied away from the weapon as much as he was able with a small cry of pain.

“W-Wendy?” the boy called hesitantly across the table.

“Be quiet, Michael.  It will be all right now.  Won’t it, Commander Jones?”  Wendy’s tone was quiet and held a tinge of hope and desperation rather than demand within the question.

“Aye, lad,” Killian smiled gently at the boy, pulling him possessively into his side, his hand grasping the barrel of the gun and shifting it out of the boy’s side.  Felix glared, but the few inches Michael had moved didn’t change the status quo.  “Just you sit tight; we’ll get you back to Emma in no time.”

Michael didn’t answer, just buried his head beneath Killian’s arm.  Killian grimaced internally when the boy brushed the still-healing wound, but made no outward sign of his discomfort, carding his fingers through the boy’s hair instead, hushing him comfortingly.

He buried the memory of another little boy doing the same thing.  Now wasn’t the time.

“Ah, yes.  The lovely Miss Swan.  I’m surprised to see that she isn’t attached to your hip.  Finally put her somewhere she belongs, have you?”  Robert Gold’s voice was oily like his father’s, but cultured with a more scholarly accent than Malcolm’s.

Killian smirked, but said nothing.  If they didn’t know where Emma was, he certainly wasn’t going to help them find her.

Gold continued, leaning forward in his seat until he rested his elbows on the table.  “No time for small talk?  Pity.  It’s a lost art, you know - the ability to converse amicably with one’s enemies.  There was a time when I could hold a civil conversation with any man – be it a business associate or a man I was about to kill, and you’d never know the difference until you were profiting or dying.  I built my reputation on that.  It’s become a lucrative enterprise over the years.  And you want to tear that all away from me, don’t you, Commander?”

“You built your reputation on the blood and lives of innocent women and children.  You don’t deserve a dime of it.”  Killian spat the words, wanting nothing more than to get to the point.  The sheer hubris of the man in front of him, to have the audacity to march into the open towing Emma’s boy like a human shield, rankled Killian beyond belief.  He had to be careful not to make a mistake in his anger.  

He had a feeling it was what the bastard was counting on.

Gold smiled gleefully as if he had been complimented, examining his carefully manicured nails and paying the other members of their table no attention.  “Is it really me you want?  Cut the head off the snake and you think there aren’t a hundred men to take my place?  Or would you be just as happy with the boy?  He’s who you’re really after now, aren’t you?”  

Gold grinned when Michael whimpered, grasping Killian’s shirt to pull himself even closer.  There was a glint of satisfaction in the man’s eyes when he continued.  “We’ve always been able to dangle a member of this family in front of you and throw you right off our track.  Will it be any different this time?”

Killian’s blood ran cold.  He didn’t understand the comment.  He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to understand.  

“What?” he asked anyway.

Felix ruffled Michael’s hair as Gold smirked like the cat who caught the canary.  “Oh didn’t you know, Commander Jones?  Michael here is John’s little brother.  Wendy’s as well.  They were one _darling_ little family until I came along.”

Even as his mind reeled, Killian filed the information on Wendy away for later.  She was John’s older sister.  She was terrified for Michael - for her little brother.  Just like John had been.  Member of Gold’s organization or not, he had to save her.  Had to save them both.

“John?”  Both Michael and Wendy spoke up at the same time.  Killian could feel their stares boring into him, burning him with judgment, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Gold.

“What?” he asked again, stupidly.  Helplessly.  _God_ , he kept thinking, the thought tumbling over and over in his mind, _Michael and John were brothers_.  

Michael was the boy he had promised John he would find.  He needed to save Michael.  Now.  Not just for Emma anymore, but for John.  For himself.

Michael.  He was everything.

“Oh yes, Wendy dear,” Gold didn’t look away from Killian, either, even as he spoke to the young woman at his side.  “Didn’t you know that Commander Jones is the sole reason that your brother is dead?”

Her face was drawn up first in confusion and then in distaste.  Clearly, she’d lost any respect for him.  Then, that distaste turned to fear as she looked to where he was clutching Michael to his side.

Killian didn’t deny the accusation.  He couldn’t deny it, not when he already believed that Gold was speaking the truth.  It _was_ his fault, he’d thought that for years.  John’s face filled his memory and Killian had to fight terribly to squash him back into the tightly locked corner of his heart that he guarded fiercely.

Michael pulled away from him, drawing his feet up onto the bench and hugging his knees to his chest.  There wasn’t enough room in the booth for the boy to put any actual space between him, so Killian could feel the tremors of fear rippling up the tiny arm tensed against his side.

Killian felt the loss profoundly.

But it was the look in the little boy’s eyes - ones that reminded him so much of the boy’s older brother - that tore him apart from the inside out.  He’d never seen a look of hatred so severe on a face that young.

And it was directed at _him_.

He had to fix this.

“So, I’ll make a deal with you, Commander,” Gold continued.  “A chance to make amends, let’s say.  We’ll take Michael right back to Miss Swan, and allow her to travel back to Boston unaccosted.  No addendums, no quid pro quo.  Simple and straightforward.”

Killian wanted that more than anything, but he didn’t take the bait.  He’d been trained to be smarter than that.  “And in return, what?  I agree never to pursue you or your organization again?”

“Oh no, dearie.  Just as taking me down wouldn’t end my business, I know that there are plenty of other agents that your brother could assign my case to.  No, I’d need far more collateral than your word to give you the chance to save the boy here.”  Gold cocked his head to the side as he spoke.

There was a chill racing down Killian’s spine.  But he couldn’t walk away from this.  Emma would never forgive him.  He’d never be able to forgive himself.  He’d promised John he’d save Michael, after all.

And he could do that.   _Finally_ , he could do that.

“What’s your price?” he sighed, already knowing he’d pay whatever it was.

“You, dearie.”  Gold spoke matter-of-factly.  This was just business to him.  “You come with us, and we’ll release the boy.  You tell us when, where, and how to get him back to Miss Swan, and then you stay behind.  Finally meet some of the men in my organization that you’ve been chasing all this time.”

It didn’t matter what was going to come from him turning himself over – and he had no illusions that it would turn out well for him.  Killian had already capitulated.  He had agreed to this deal long before Gold set the terms.  

But he still had to ask.  “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“Because any man I’ve ever done business with can tell you one thing about me, whether they like me or not - once I make a deal, I never break it.”  Killian could see Felix nodding as Gold spoke.  “But just to put your mind at ease, I’ll sweeten the pot.  You come _quietly_ once you’re assured that the boy is safe, and when we get back to my office, I’ll set Miss Darling and her daughter loose as well.  You can reunite brother and sister, make them a happy family again, even if they’ll be missing John.”

Killian shut his eyes against the knowledge that for winning, he’d lost so utterly.  He wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to Emma, to explain.  They’d taken huge steps forward in the relationship he wanted desperately to cultivate with her, but now he was going to be nothing more than another disappointment.  Just another person in her life who left her behind, who let her down.  He could only hope that returning Michael would make up in some small part for that.

“You have a deal.”

Gold nodded, a gleam in his eyes that made Killian shiver, despite himself.  He followed them out to their SUV, Michael once again glued to his eyes.  At least the hatred in his eyes had been replaced by hope.  Killian would hold onto that look for as long as he could.

He was thankful that the ride back to the hotel was short, the need for directions giving him a momentary victory over Gold - at least the bastard hadn’t known where they were staying.  The back of the Mercedes was cramped with Felix crowding Michael’s space and the boy trying to melt into Killian’s side, but he pulled the boy closer anyway.  Wendy drove them around back to a service entrance and Michael practically clawed his way over Killian to get out of the car.

The lad was all knees and elbows, and a careless jab to his midsection had Killian seeing white.  He pushed aside the pain from the barely healed wound - it would likely be the least of his worries in the near future, anyway.

“You have two minutes to tell him where to go, Jones,” Felix sneered.  “And if you think about running…”

The weapon aimed at the back of Wendy’s head was explanation enough.  

“I’m no coward, and I already gave you my word.”  Killian didn’t spare the smug young man another thought for the moment.  Instead, he gave Michael his room key and the backpack with the laptop in it.  He whispered into Michael’s ear and accepted the fierce hug he was given.  When the boy was safely inside, Killian turned back to the car.

He had no time to react to the gun as it whipped him across the face and sent him spiraling into blackness.

* * *

Emma trudged out of the elevator, her eyes half-closed after spending the day watching person after person order their ridiculously complicated coffees.  She wanted nothing more than to check on Killian because of his stubborn refusal to take time to heal, then crash on the bed for a few hours before they discussed their next move.  He kept telling her that this was the best way to get to Gold, but Emma needed to do _more_.  She could have already lost Michael back in New York.  The sooner they caught someone, the sooner they could find out how to get him back.  Emma just wanted to find Michael and wrap him in the biggest hug she…

Michael was hiding behind a ficus tree in the hallway.

Emma blinked.  Then blinked again.  Then rubbed her eyes and pinched herself.  

She had to be dreaming.  She’d seen Michael so often in her dreams that she was imagining him returned to her.

She didn’t have time to contemplate exactly how sleep-deprived she must be to be hallucinating before Michael was barreling down the hall and launching himself into her arms.  Emma dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around him.  One hand cradled his head tight against the side of her neck as her cheek dropped to his hair, the other arm was a vice across his shoulders.  She could feel his hot tears soaking the collar of her shirt, his fingers clutching the fabric at her back, his tremors of fear wracking his entire frame.

He was here.  He was safe.  

He was… alone.

Michael was alone, out in the hallway, with Killian’s backpack hanging off his slim shoulders.

_That self-sacrificing bastard._

Emma knew exactly what had happened, and she didn’t need Michael to tell her about it.  She’d ask him, of course, get every tiny detail her foster charge could remember so that she could track Killian down and kill him herself.

But first she had to get Michael inside and safe.  She needed to look him over, get some food in him, and make sure he didn’t need a doctor or worse.

Of course, she’d have to let go of him long enough to do those things, and Emma wasn’t sure she was capable of that at the moment.

She settled for lifting Michael into her arms, letting him wrap his legs tightly around her waist and his arms around her neck.  He was still sobbing as silently as he could, the occasional gasp or hiccup loud in her ear.  When she finally got inside, she dead-bolted the door behind her and collapsed on the couch. Then, she settled Michael more comfortably against her and tried to wait patiently until he calmed down.

She needed to know exactly what happened.  She needed to find Killian.  She needed… God, she needed to call Liam.  

How was she supposed to tell Liam that his idiot little brother had gone off and done something stupid - just as he had feared?

First things first.  “Michael?  Hey kid, how you doing?”

He leaned back and scrubbed his face, but the tears weren’t stopping.  Instead of answering, Michael shrugged and started to play with the ties of his sweatshirt.  When Emma moved her hand to wipe his face, he panicked and reached out both hands to grasp her shirt.

“Hey.  Hey it’s okay.  It’s all right, Michael, I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere.  You’re safe, kid.  I’ve got you.”  She spoke softly, almost murmuring the words as she settled Michael back against her.  He needed more time.

Time that Killian didn’t have.

But Michael was her priority, had always been and would always be.  So she waited him out until he sat back on his own.

“He said to tell you he was sorry.”  Michael wouldn’t look at her, but his words were clear and his tears had finally stopped.

“Who said that?”

“The man.  The nice one.  Killian?”  He smiled a little, but it fell flat soon after.  “He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry.  But that he kept his promise?”

_I’ll get you your boy back.  I swear I will._

Emma’s heart plummeted through her chest.  She nodded as she bit back her own tears.  Michael wouldn’t understand and she needed to be strong for him.  “Did he say anything else?”

He nodded, then scrunched his forehead in concentration.  “He wanted me to tell you to… he whispered it so Mr. Felix wouldn’t hear.  He said, ‘tell Emma to take you and run to Liam, and tell her to forget about me’.  That’s what he said.  I promised him I’d remember every word.  Did I do good?”

She couldn’t breathe.  It felt like someone had just reached into her chest, torn her heart free, and was crushing it in front of her.  It was only when Michael’s face started to crumple again that she found the strength to smile for him.  “Yes.  Yeah, kid, you did good.”

It took longer than she would have liked, but Michael had finally eaten and fallen asleep in the hotel room’s large bed.  Emma shut the door part way and then sat on the couch, staring at the phone on the table in front of her.

She needed help.  She needed Liam to send people to find Killian and to keep Michael safe.  The boy had mentioned something about Killian saving his sister, too, but Emma figured he had fallen back on the familiar coping technique out of habit rather than an actual account of events.

She needed Liam.  Now.  

All she had to do was pick up the phone.

Like it was that easy.  Dial the number to reach Liam, tell him that Killian had gone and done something stupid, and everything would be fine.  Never mind the fact that she’d be breaking the news that Liam’s little brother – his only family – had turned himself over to a ruthless organization who would be only too happy to make him pay for the trouble he’d caused them over the years.  Killian had told her the bare minimum about what they’d done to John, but she could imagine all too frighteningly what they would do to _him_.  

And he was already injured.  By rights, he should be in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and fluids and painkillers.

Emma could only hope that despite the reasons they should kill him, Gold and his men would be ruthless enough to make him suffer first.  A morbid thought that made her cringe and almost start shaking as her imagination ran wild, but she knew that Killian would hold on as long as he could for his brother to find him.

Then, she and Liam could strap him to a bed in the ICU and keep him under armed guard - against his own escape attempts - for the foreseeable future.

But first, she needed to find the courage to make that phone call.

Emma gripped the metal and plastic contraption for long enough to make her hand cramp before she finally dialed the number.

Liam picked up on the first ring.

“Killian?”

Emma wanted to burst into tears.  The accent was so similar, even if it was more gruff.  She bit back her emotions and resolved to act professionally.

“Your brother’s a moron,” she blurted out instead.   _So much for professional._

Liam chuckled into the phone, and she heard the sound of a door closing in the background.  “Aye, lass, I’m aware.  What did he do now?”

Oh.   _Oh._  That was not the mood she wanted to put him in.

“Umm… well, see.  He’s kinda, sorta gone and gotten himself caught in exchange for Michael.”  The explanation came out garbled and rushed as if it would hurt less that way.  Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

“Liam?”

It took him a few seconds to answer.  “I’m going to need you to repeat that, Miss Swan.  Where is my brother?”

“I… I don’t know.  I came back to the room and Michael was here.  He said that Killian made some kind of deal with Go… with Rumplestiltskin.  He’s not… your brother isn’t here.  And I don’t know how to find him.  And I need to get Michael someplace safe.  And…”

“We’ll take care of your boy, Miss Swan.  We’ll get you both somewhere that Rumplestiltskin and his men can’t touch you.”  Liam was all business now, and Emma could hear the clacking of keyboard keys as he typed furiously.  “I’m dispatching a pair of agents to your location.  They’ll use the password ‘the jewel of the realm’ to let you know I’ve sent them.  They should be there within the hour.”

“Okay, then what?” she asked.

There was more typing, and then a determined, “And then I come out to Chicago, find my idiot brother, and wring his neck.”

Emma wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I’ll find him, Emma.  Don’t you worry about that.  We’ll get you home safe and then…”

“Like Hell!”  The rollercoaster of emotions Emma had been riding the last few minutes exploded into full-blown anger.  “You can’t leave me behind any more than Killian could.”

“Emma…” he warned.

“No.”  She wasn’t having it.  “We can waste time arguing this over the phone or you can get to Chicago and we can find your brother.  I don’t think Rumplestiltskin is going to give him a break while we yell at each other, do you?”

Liam was silent for a long moment.  When he finally did speak again, Emma could swear he sounded like he was being choked.  “No, lass.  I don’t imagine he will.”

“Then I’ll see you when you get here.  And then we’ll both go find your brother and wring his neck together.”  Emma smiled slightly in spite of herself.

“Aye, lass.  That we will.”


	16. Rumplestiltskin's Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who commented last chapter, I'm so sorry I haven't responded yet. It's been a hectic week. I intend to remedy that tonight after work. For now, enjoy the fruits of Rumplestiltskin finally getting his claws into Killian...

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

The first thing Killian became aware of was the pins and needles sensation assaulting his hands, his circulation being cut off by coarse ropes.  The partial numbness was a small annoyance in the grand scheme of things, but it was currently the most pressing thing that filtered through as the haze of unconsciousness started to fade.  His head made its protests known then, a dull and persistent throbbing that seemed to ebb and flow in intensity with each breath.  Killian wanted to reach up and anchor the heels of his hands against his temples, but the pull of muscles in his shoulders when he tried to move his arms stopped him.

His hands were tied – how could he have forgotten that?

Nausea rolled through him next, stealing his breath and forcing him to press his head harder against the cold floor in effort to ground himself through the dizziness.  Killian wasn’t sure when he noticed that the room was spinning around him – what with his eyes still clenched shut against the throbbing in his head - but the room tilted drastically each time he tried opening his eyes.  The muscles in his cheek twitched as he ground his teeth together, his tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth.  The mere thought of throwing up the meager contents of his stomach – when had he last eaten, exactly? – made Killian shudder.  Vomiting would hurt, and he wasn’t sure he could manage that on top of everything else.

But what _was_ everything else?

It all started to come back to him slowly.  He remembered the back of Michael’s head disappearing through the service entrance to the hotel.  He remembered Wendy’s face when she realized her family would be free.  Gold’s smug grin when he knew that he’d beaten Killian again.  The coffee shop.  Coming to Chicago with Emma.  Fighting with Emma.  

Getting shot.

The last memory caused his side to erupt in a fiery pain that he was sure hurt more than when he’d actually been shot.  He clenched his elbow to his abdomen as best he could, and when that did nothing to alleviate the burning, slid forward until he could feel the chill of the concrete seeping into his skin.  His shirt had ridden up in the movement, and though it caused the already present shivers to wrack his frame more violently, it quieted the gunshot wound’s protests just enough that he could _think_ again.

He was in some kind of basement, judging by the dim lighting and the unfinished concrete floor he was lying on.  It was a small room with a solid-looking metal door and no windows.  A few feet from him – an impossible distance at the moment – was a dingy looking mattress that Killian was pretty sure had seen a World War or two.

His thoughts flittered away from him for a while, and he thought he might have slept.  The brief respite didn’t give him any further clarity, nor did it dull any of the distracting signals his body was trying to helpfully send to inform him that he had injuries that needed to be attended to.  That knowledge was neither actionable nor was it pertinent at the moment.  His hands were tied, both literally and figuratively, and Killian needed to focus.  

His eyes drooped shut once more.

The third time he startled to consciousness, Killian had to force himself to breathe through the nausea.  He needed to focus on escape, yes, but first he needed to stay awake for more than just a few minutes at a time.  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been locked up, where he was, or what Gold planned on doing with him.

Killian _was_ sure that he just needed to hold out long enough for Liam to find him.

And Emma.

Emma was coming for him.  He knew that as assuredly as he knew that Liam would rescue him.  Killian had a sneaking suspicion that his brother wouldn’t be able to keep Emma away – although, his concussed brain helpfully supplied, he’d like to see Liam try.

But first.

Focus.   _Focus, Jones_ , he berated himself.  Killian had no intentions of sitting around and waiting to see what Gold had in mind as suitable punishment for being a thorn in his organization’s side.  He had no intention of sitting around and doing nothing until Liam rode in like a white knight to save him.

He had survived this long by being smart and self-reliant.

A healthy dose of resilience didn’t hurt either.

Killian had just managed to sit up on his own without the world flying off its axis when the door burst open.  The sight of Felix’s arrogant grin as he stood in the doorway caused Killian’s eyes to roll despite the headache, and it was worth the spike of pain to see the young man sneer in annoyance.

_Never let them see you hurting._

He barely had time to think about making an attempt through the open door when Malcolm stepped into the room and leveled a gun at his head.  He was too far away to try and disarm, and it would be difficult with his hands tied behind his back.

Instead, Killian settled for glaring as Felix moved towards him, pulled him to his feet, and cut the ropes free of his wrists.  Blood and sensation rushed to his fingers, and he shook them quickly before they were grabbed again.

“Try and move, Jones.  I dare you.”  The young man’s voice hissed in his ear before he yanked Killian’s arms around and fastened handcuffs around his wrists.

When Felix tugged on his arm to get him walking, Killian stayed still.  He waited until the young man turned to glare, then smirked at the look of disdain.  “You told me not to move.”

He anticipated the punch to his belly, and grabbed Felix’s hand before it could fully make contact.  Spinning the man, he used the momentary distraction to lift his bound hands over Felix’s head and wrap his arm around Felix’s throat then pull back.  Felix writhed and bucked, but with his air supply being cut off, there was only so much he could do.

But Killian had forgotten about Malcolm.

The butt of the gun crashed down on the back of Killian’s head and sent him bonelessly to the ground.  He toppled down on Felix, who extracted himself gracelessly and spent the next few minutes raining his frustration down on Killian’s prostrate form.  The kicks that connected with his side were violent and added another layer of agony to the insults his body was trying to absorb.  Killian curled into as much of a ball as he was able, protecting his head with his arms and torso with his knees while he waited out Felix’s temper.

“Enough, Panderson.  My son wants him cognizant,” Malcolm spat.

Killian thought distractedly that cognizant might be too much of a pipe-dream, and hoped Gold would settle for mostly conscious.  Or rather, partly conscious.

He really needed to learn to pick his battles better.

The room they dragged him into wasn’t far down a hallway, but Killian wasn’t sure how many turns they took – or if they even took any.  He mostly concentrated on trying to keep his feet under him and trying to keep his eyes open at the same time.

Killian was fairly docile as Felix and Malcolm tied him to a chair in the center of the room.  He automatically rocked from side to side, testing the weight of the chair, but it was bolted to the floor.

Robert Gold chuckled from where he stood near the wall, leaning forward on his cane and watching the proceedings.  “I trust you’ve found your accommodations to be satisfactory, Mr. Jones?”

“Oh absolutely.  I’ll be sure to leave you a glowing review on Ye…”  His voice cut off in a wheeze as Felix stepped forward and planted his fist under Killian’s ribs.

His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, and it was an effort to keep his breathing in check.  He had to focus, had to concentrate on the situation at hand rather than what they were going to do to him.  Killian forced a facade of indifference to erase any outward sign of pain, a mask to hide any emotion that could be used against him, and he smirked up at Felix instead.  The punch to his jaw was expected so he rolled with it, lessening the blow as much as he was able.

Still, blood filled Killian’s mouth as the inside of his lip gashed open against his teeth.  He spat at Gold, and was pleased to see the man step back in disgust.  It was a small victory, but Killian would always be able to say that he didn’t flinch first.

It was the last victory he would be able to claim for a while.  Gold watched implacably as Felix pummeled him, switching between his face and torso as Killian kept smirking.  The blows fell hard and fast, rocking his head to the side and leaving bruises in their wake.  The discomfort crescendoed until his entire upper body was a mess of aches and stabbing pain.  Killian ignored it all.  His glare matched Gold’s, and it was as if the younger man wasn’t even in the room.  Killian waited them out, using the crescendo of pain to focus on remaining silent.

“Enough.”  Gold held up one hand and Felix stopped immediately.  Killian let his head fall until his chin rested on his chest, allowing his eyes to slip shut as he gathered what little strength he could.  He gasped in breaths around the sharp pains in his chest, trying to ease the tremors that rattled him.  He needed to stay strong, stay calm.

This was far from over.

Killian heard Gold take a step forward before his head was wrenched up by his hair.  “You can make this stop any time you want.  Just say the word.”    Killian quickly bit back the small cry of surprise he couldn’t quite mask, and his teeth clicked shut audibly.

Gold’s smile was sinister as he continued.  “But we both know you’re far too stubborn for that.  We’re only at the beginning.”

He nodded and Felix began again.  Killian’s head snapped to the side as a fist collided with his temple, and he saw stars.  He was only vaguely aware when Gold sauntered out of the room with Malcolm trailing behind him.  

Felix didn’t even pause.

He had no idea when they brought him back to the tiny room, but the chill of the concrete was soothing and lulled him back into unconsciousness.

* * *

They came for him again, dragging him out of the room before he was even fully aware of being moved.  He struggled more out of instinct than an actual belief he could escape, and wasn’t surprised when he was shoved unceremoniously into the chair.  Robert Gold stared at him as the handcuffs were removed and ropes were wound around his wrists and chest, pinning him in place.  Killian tested the knots, but they held firm.  He glared up at his captor, clamping his mouth shut and ignoring the stiffness that the swelling in his face caused.

Gold smirked in return before reaching out with the handle of his cane and using it to tilt Killian’s head up.  Dried blood caked the side of his face and his eye was swollen shut.  Blinking sent shards of pain deep into his eye socket and set off fireworks in his skull.  

Still, he made eye contact and stared defiantly.

“We could have avoided all of this, if only I thought you could be cooperative.  It’s a shame, really.  Felix and my father have far better things to do than make you more… malleable.”  Gold sounded as if he were talking about failed negotiations of a business deal, and Killian hated him for it.

He watched as Gold nodded and prepared for the blows to start anew.  So far, the gunshot wound to his side had been left relatively unscathed, but it was only a matter of time.  Killian concentrated on listing his primary and secondary school teachers alphabetically as Felix connected a string of punches together.  He let his eyes fall shut as the blows increased in intensity, but still he didn’t make a sound past the occasional grunt.

He wouldn’t let them break him.

“Enough.”  The command was spoken softly, but was all the more powerful for it.  Killian cracked his eye open and watched as Gold stepped forward once more.  “I think he understands the repercussions of ignoring my questions now.”

“I think you’re supposed to ask one first.”  Killian spoke as steadily as he was able around shallow breaths.  

Gold glared down at him, and Killian couldn’t help adding, “I could have missed it, though.  I was a bit distracted wondering what’s for lunch.”

Felix clenched his fist to throw another punch, but Gold raised a hand without breaking eye contact.  “What I would like you to tell me, Mr. Jones, is wh-”

“-Commander Jones,” he interrupted.  “Mr. Jones was my father.”  

Killian grimaced internally at the thought of the man, but steeled his reaction.

Robert Gold pursed his lips at being cut off, but continued as if he’d paused for effect.  “ _Commander_.  Of course.  What I would like to know is simple.  What does your brother know about me, and who are the men assigned to investigate my organization?”

Killian rolled his eyes, biting back a grimace at the odd sensation of muscle stuttering over jagged bone in his face.   _That_ couldn’t be good - but it would have to be examined at a later time.  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.  Haven’t spoken to my brother in years.”

Felix took a menacing step forward, but Gold stopped him again.  “Please, Mr. Panderson.  There are far more civilized methods to get the answers we want.  Father?”

Killian had a bad feeling about this.

He heard the footsteps of two more men entering the room, and watched dispassionately as Devin and James carried a table between them.  Malcolm followed them and directed the boys to place it down in front of him.  They latched the legs into the hooks on the floor and stepped back.  Another boy that Killian didn’t recognize followed with a bucket of foul-smelling water, setting it down on the table with a thunk.  Killian closed his eyes in distaste and automatically started to take deep breaths with quick exhalations, a half-forgotten lesson on surviving drowning fueling his actions.

Malcolm grasped the hair at the back of Killian’s head and pushed him towards the water.  He struggled against the older man’s grip, tightening his neck muscles until he could no longer resist.  Just before he was shoved into the water, he took as deep a breath as he could manage and held it.

It shocked him just how cold the water was, and the slimy, oily feel to it made Killian grimace.  He didn’t struggle, saving his energy and conserving oxygen.  No matter what, he didn’t want to swallow any of the disgusting liquid.

It seemed to take an eternity before his head was lifted, bright sparks dancing in his vision as he gulped in oxygen before being submerged again.

Malcolm held his head down longer this time, and after awhile, Killian couldn’t help thrashing violently against the restraint.  His lungs were screaming, but he fought against the instinct to open his mouth, knowing what it would bring.

The fight had started to drain out of him when his head was lifted once more.  As soon as he was clear of the water, he began to gasp.

“Would you like to amend your statement, _Commander_ Jones?”  Killian barely heard Gold’s question over the frantic pounding of his pulse in his ears.  He focused solely on breathing, ignoring everything else around him.

The punch to the gut knocked the wind out of him, and Killian’s eyes watered as his diaphragm locked in spasm.

“I believe my son asked you a question,” the man standing behind him hissed.

Still unable to take a breath, Killian rolled his head to the side and glared at Malcolm.  He wanted nothing more than to leap out of the chair and beat the man senseless.

But the ropes digging into his wrists denied him, so he turned his attention back to the younger Gold.  He wheezed out an answer in several breaths.  “I don’t believe so, no.”

Robert nodded amicably, and Killian felt his hair grabbed again.  His eyes clenched shut and he didn’t bother resisting the push under the water – he needed to save all the strength he could.

He didn’t expect Felix to step to his left side and throw a punch that landed right on the half-healed wound on his torso.  An involuntary cry tore from his throat and Killian found himself choking on the brackish water.

He couldn’t fight the natural response to inhale.  There was no air left in his lungs and the bright sparks began to turn to alarmingly dark spots as he attempted to cough out the water.  If Malcolm didn’t pull him out of the water soon, he wasn’t going to have to worry about answering any of Gold’s questions.

His body was limp and Malcolm barely had to exert any pressure to keep him under water, but eventually he was pulled upright.  The water expelled violently from his lungs as he hacked and vomited back into the bucket.  Killian could barely manage to keep his head up when Malcolm abruptly let go.

“Would you like to tell me about your brother now, Jones?”  Gold’s tone hadn’t changed since the start of their ‘conversation’.

“Nev…” Killian coughed again, before he managed to croak out, “Never.”

Gold shrugged, and before Killian could wonder what was going to happen next, he was shoved under the water once more.

He passed out long before his head was pulled from the bucket.

* * *

Killian was freezing.  That simple fact overrode any of the pain he was in or the way his lungs were still spasmodically trying to expel the remaining water.  His body was wracked with shivers and he wanted to curl up in a ball.

Trying to do so ignited a pain in his torso that stole what little breath he had managed to take in.  It felt like someone was impaling him with a hot poker, and Killian had to force open his eyes to make sure he was indeed alone in the room.

He was.

Gasping in short breaths of air seemed to quiet the fire in his side a bit, so Killian remained motionless against the concrete, ignoring the chill as best he could.

Minutes or hours later - he’d long ago lost track of time - Killian finally managed to pull himself painstakingly onto the grungy mattress.  He was surprised to find his hands untied, but didn’t dwell on what that meant for the state his captors had left him in.  There was a threadbare blanket balled up in a corner of the makeshift bed, and Killian dragged it over his body as best he could.  His shirt was still damp and he knew he should take it off, but doing so was an insurmountable task at the moment.

He may have slept, or maybe he was just caught in the in-between stage where his body couldn’t truly rest, but when he became aware of his surroundings again, his shirt was dry and his entire body was in agony.

There was a sandwich and a bottle of water on the floor directly in front of Killian’s face, and it startled him so badly to know that someone had been that close to him and he had remained unaware that he sucked in a breath involuntarily and set off a round of coughing that left him gasping once more.   _Get with the picture, Jones,_ he berated himself even as he reached for the food.

Baloney.

Killian forced himself to eat the sandwich, grimacing the entire time.  The assaults he could handle.  The near-drowning and the taunting were survivable.  But the baloney was the most horrific thing they’d thrown at him.  

Why did they have to torture him with baloney?

Choking down the last of the meal, Killian gulped down the water.  The liquid was warm and stale, but it was undeniably clean and soothed his throat.  He drank the entire bottle.

That was when the screeching and wailing started.

He couldn’t hear anything over the racket, barely able to hear his own breathing, and it cut at his ears painfully.  Killian could just see the speakers secured to the ceiling tiles, but knew he couldn’t reach them even if he’d had the strength to stand.  Helpless to do anything else, he clapped his hands over his ears and curled into a ball as if he could escape the noise that way.

He was going to enjoy taking Robert Gold apart, piece by piece.

The noise continued intermittently throughout the next several hours, jarring him from any semblance of sleep and assaulting his senses.  No matter how much he tried to get away from it, the cacophony vibrated down to his bones and Killian could do no more than ride it out.

* * *

Gold could have had him for days or weeks or months and Killian wouldn’t have known the difference.  Sometimes they came for him, trying to break him through pain, near-drowning, and questions about his brother.  Other days they left him to the noise or the deathly quiet of his room.

He preferred the beatings.

They’d strung him up a few times, knocking him around like a piñata and commenting on his bruises.  Twice already, Gold had directed one of the men to stitch up the wounds in his side that refused to heal under the onslaught.  It didn’t stop them from laughing every time the sutures tore open again.

Killian didn’t care.

He never said a word about his brother, and that was all that mattered to him.  Everything else would heal once Liam and Emma stormed the castle, so to speak, and got him out of there.

If his brother and his… Emma would like to hurry up, though, Killian wasn’t going to complain.

Today, however, Gold wasn’t even in the room.  Malcolm and his Lost Boys were working him over, trading off blows and immersion in what Killian was sure was the same water he’d been assaulted with since the beginning.  He was already hacking and breathless when Felix began to twirl an innocuous looking stick between his fingers.  One of the boys dumped the bucket of water over his head, and Killian glared.  He paled considerably as Felix depressed the button on the baton and the sound of electricity crackled through the room.

“Really, Felix?  You couldn’t come up with something more creative than that?  How many movies has…” Killian trailed off as the stock prod jabbed into his thigh and the muscles seized.  His breath caught in his throat and tears pooled in his eyes.  He couldn’t move the leg away, could only stare as his limb refused to cooperate with the commands he was silently screaming at it.

Felix let go of the button and Killian sagged in relief.

He refused to let his eyes shut, knowing that the young man would take the opportunity to surprise him.

Felix didn’t let up, and jabbed the end into Killian’s arm.  He was more prepared for the pain this time, but it did nothing to lessen the agony racing down to his fingers.  The young man moved to Killian’s back next, relentlessly stabbing into his shoulder, the small muscles at the side of his neck, his lower back.

Killian arched against the pain each time.

The next time Felix stuck him, Killian flinched.  But there was no pain.  He gasped anyway, unable to control his response.  Felix laughed maniacally as Killian cowered away from the painless prodding.  The next contact was quiet as well.  And the next.  And the next.

Killian knew what the bastard was doing; he knew that Felix was lulling him into a sense of calm.  Giving him the chance to mistakenly relax.  It would be that much worse when-

-The electricity turned on again as Felix lay the prod directly over the entry wound in Killian’s back.  It felt like he was being shot all over again.

It was too much, the electricity on top of the half-healed wound.  This time, Felix didn’t pull the prod away.  He held it steady, digging it deeper into the wound.  The pain simply kept building until Killian could do nothing but scream in agony until he blacked out.

He came to a moment later, dripping wet from a second bucket of water that Felix dumped over him.  Robert Gold towered over Killian, smirking as he leaned on his cane.  If Killian had the strength, he would have kicked the cane out from under the man.

He had to settle for glaring.

Killian wasn’t even sure it was a convincing glower - probably more of a grimace.  Maybe a frown.  If he was lucky.  He was in too much pain to do anything more, his muscles twitching uncontrollably, shivers of cold and half-suppressed fear sucking his resolve out from under him.

“Is there nothing I can do to make you reconsider my offer?”  Gold sounded bored.

Unsure of how strong his voice would sound, Killian simply shook his head, trying to rebuild his strength.  There was something in Gold’s eyes that made him uneasy.  It was almost a glimmer of glee, and that wouldn’t bode well for Killian.  He would need whatever reserves he could manage for what came next.

“I see.  I thought it was a simple enough question.  Your brother’s knowledge for your well-being.  Surely he and your girlfriend wouldn’t want to see you suffer like this.  Although you would make quite the spectacle for them to watch.”  Gold gestured with one hand to Killian, encompassing everything in one swoop.

Terror struck Killian for a moment.  Did Gold have Liam?  Did he have _Emma_?

No.  No, he wouldn’t be grandstanding like this if he had them.  Gold was all about the show, and he’d want his captives to make a memorable entrance.

Killian breathed a sigh of relief.  They were still safe.  He could handle whatever came next.

“A pity, then.  Clearly, my men haven’t been persuasive enough.  But you’ve known interrogations like this before, haven’t you?  We’ve done our research on you as well.  Perhaps we need to try something you haven’t seen before.  Something a little more… _creative_ , was that what you told Felix?”  Gold snapped his fingers as he finished and two of the Lost Boys brought out the table once more. They secured the table and stepped back, looking apprehensive instead of intrigued as they normally did.

Killian’s pulse skyrocketed, echoing in his ears.

He kicked out violently as the two boys attempted to lash his ankles to the chair legs.  He had nowhere to go, but fought anyway until Malcolm stepped up behind him and grabbed his hair, then wrapped an arm around his throat, squeezing until Killian saw stars and capitulated.

Malcolm didn’t let go.

With his arms and legs tied and his head locked in Malcolm’s grasp, Killian had nowhere to move.  Still, Gold stepped back and nodded to someone behind Killian.

Felix grinned demonically as he stepped to Killian’s left side and brandished a knife.  He flipped it end over end a few times, always catching the handle, before sawing the ropes from Killian’s wrist.

Immediately, Killian pulled his hand free and tried to claw at Malcolm’s arm, tried to reach for the ropes, the knife, anything to help him get loose.

Malcolm squeezed tighter in response.

Felix finally managed to grab Killian’s wrist and yanked his arm across the table.  He held the hand, palm side down, on the flat surface and untangled a rope from where it hung innocuously on one of the table legs.  Devin and James both stepped forward again and worked together to tie Killian’s wrist down until he couldn’t move the limb.

Still, Malcolm held him tightly, cutting off his air, and Killian felt almost detached from the situation.

“I’ve told you before,” Malcolm whispered in his ear, “that my son likes to make his deals, but I prefer to find out what people are made of.  I can’t wait to see what this does to you.”

Killian stopped breathing.  He stopped moving.  He was well and truly terrified.

Gold stepped up to him and rested his hands on the table, on either side of Killian’s own.  He bent down until Killian was forced to meet his gaze.  The look in Gold’s eyes gave him chills.  

“I gave you so many chances to just tell me what I wanted to know.  But you refused.  So I’ll give you one more chance,” Gold paused, smiling genially.  “I’ll even make you a deal, since you liked the last one well enough.  You tell me what I want to know about your brother’s firm and the files he has on me.  You do that, and I’ll untie you and send you back to your room.  I’ll even contact your brother and we can work something out.”  

Gold shrugged and nodded down to Killian’s bound hand.  “You don’t tell me what I want to know and, well, we’ll have to continue.”

Killian watched as James laid a wicked looking knife near Gold’s right hand.  It had a long blade, slightly curved and smooth along the sharp edge.  He watched as Gold picked up the weapon and dragged it shallowly across the back of his tied wrist.  Blood welled up as Killian hissed, but Gold just retraced the path, cutting a little bit deeper the second time.

He raised the knife up to Killian’s eye level, and let the blood drip down the metal edge.

Killian shuddered, trying to gulp even as his mouth went dry.  The gash on the back of his wrist stung, but he barely acknowledged the pain.  Instead, he stared, transfixed, as the knife glinted in the dim light of the room.

“Well?”  Gold dragged the tip of the knife over Killian’s wrist once more for emphasis.

Killian shook his head ‘no’ and shut his eyes, finally breaking free of the terror that had frozen him.  He pulled as hard as he could against the ropes binding him, thrashing as much as he could, throwing his entire body back and forth as he tried to yank his arm loose.  He had to get away.  He had to get free.

“You’ll have to kill me first.”  He couldn’t give them what they wanted, regardless of the consequence.

“Ah, ah, I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for you, sonny boy.”  Malcolm whispered in his ear.  Killian heard Gold cackle happily at his father’s words, and Malcolm tightened his grip against Killian’s writhing.

Gold adjusted his grip on the handle and raised the knife.

Killian braced himself, knowing that he could never prepare himself for what came next.  He clenched his eyes even tighter, not wanting to see the arc of the blade as it fell.  

_At least Liam and Emma will be safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? Will Liam and Emma find what's left of Killian next week? Tune in to find out...


	17. Changing of the Guard

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

Liam was exactly as self-righteous as Emma remembered.  

He and two other agents had stormed into the hotel room, pushing past her and sending Michael scurrying for a closet.  Seeing her boy so frightened turned Emma’s stomach – it would be some time before he regained the cocky mask he’d worn in her office just a few weeks before.  She shot Liam a dirty look before following Michael, coaxing him back out and explaining who had just barreled in on them.

“Don’t you worry about him.  He’s just a mean old bast… bear and he doesn’t know when to stop being a jerk.”  Emma directed the last part of her explanation towards the agent booting up Killian’s laptop.

Liam raised his head and glared back at her, but continued typing with no comment.  Michael curled into Emma and she turned her focus solely on him.  She was torn.  It wasn’t right to keep him here, in danger, for any longer than necessary.  But she also wasn’t willing to let him out of her sight so soon after getting him back.

And she refused to leave Killian behind.  

Not to mention that if she sent Michael back to Boston with Liam’s two agents, he would be tossed back into the system with no one to protect him.  It wasn’t as if Emma didn’t trust her co-workers, but they all had too many cases as it was and one more would be just another file to them.

If it were up to Michael, it seemed, he had no intention of going back to Boston, either.  The one time it was mentioned by one of the agents assigned to protect him, it resulted in a kick to the man’s shin that doubled him over and two hours of Emma trying to convince the boy that she wouldn’t send him away if only he’d come out from under the bed.

By the time they all settled into a rhythm of surveillance and monitoring the various laptops that ran the facial recognition, cell phone traces, and other programs that Liam hadn’t bothered to explain, Emma had learned to appreciate Killian all the more.  She knew that Killian wasn’t used to working with a partner, and certainly not with a civilian, but he had still included her.  Killian had given her tasks to complete and had taken the time to explain what and why things happened the way they did.

Liam barely acknowledged her presence.

Emma had tried to help.  She’d been around Killian’s computer long enough to pick up the basics, and after the first few days even Michael could tell the difference between the various beeps as programs completed.  There was a steady stream of agents in and out of the two hotel rooms that Liam had commandeered, and Emma didn’t even know them all by name.

If she didn’t get some information in the very near future, Liam was going to regret it.

She watched him get more frustrated as the hours and days dragged by.  There was _nothing_ to suggest where Killian had gone with Gold.  The surveillance camera in the back of the hotel had caught Felix pistol-whipping Killian and dragging his limp body back into the Mercedes Michael had been dropped off in.  They had been able to follow the vehicle west for several miles before it disappeared, but after that, everything went radio silent.  Every lead they followed up on was another dead end.  Every time they came back empty handed and she watched Liam’s face fall, her heart broke a little bit more.

“Any ideas, lass?”  Emma jumped from the slouched position she had taken on the couch to standing when Liam’s voice startled her.  She glared at him before moving to the kitchenette to cover her abrupt movement.

It took her a minute to dig out an apple from the fridge, setting the Keurig to brew a cup of hot chocolate while she made Liam wait.  He’d barely tolerated her presence for the last few days.  If he wanted her help now, he needed to do it on her terms.

Emma pouted at the chocolate drink, missing the tang of cinnamon and comparing the K-cup version to the coffee shop drink she had gotten used to.  But thinking of _Pret_ made her think of Killian and thinking of _him_ made her stomach clench.  She needed to find him.  She needed to yank him out of whatever Hell Gold had squirreled him away to and then… well, then they could figure it out together.  But to do that, she needed help.

Time to stop being petty and deal with Killian’s brother.

Liam was staring at the door Emma had walked through, and the scowl on his face was pronounced.  In any other situation, she might have laughed at him looking like a spoiled child who has been told no sweets before dinner, but there was something haunted in his eyes that stopped her.  Killian had told her enough of the Jones brothers’ lives growing up to know that Liam had been just as much a father as he was an older brother to the young Killian.  To grow up with that on his shoulders and then to make a living sending his little brother into situations just like this?  And _then_ to not be able to find him?

Emma found she was actually impressed with just how well Liam was holding it together.

Still, she waited for him to speak.  She might be impressed, but he had still ignored her earlier attempts to help and a few more seconds wouldn’t hurt in the long run.  

She hoped.

“We’re at a dead end, Emma.  We… _I_ need your help.  I know you figured out about Chicago, so I was hoping that you might see something we missed.”  Liam’s words were quiet, almost choked, and he couldn’t make eye contact.

Emma nodded, sitting at the computer and reading through the intel the agents had compiled.  They had kept up the surveillance on the coffee shops, but she knew that was a dead end.  Her idea may have allowed Killian to catch Gold there once, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again, not now that he was aware of it.  The cell phone traces were likewise useless.  None of the numbers in Felix’s burn phone were active any longer.  The shell company that Emma and Killian had found in New York had shut down immediately after the near disaster on the bridge.

There really was nothing.

Emma turned to look helplessly at Liam when there was a knock at the door.

Several things happened in tandem.  Michael jumped off of the couch where he had been playing a video game and bolted from the room.  The two agents assigned to watch him pulled weapons and stood at the bedroom door he had disappeared behind.  Liam looked warily around the room before moving to look through the peephole, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

He stepped back for a moment, looking confused, and then unlatched the door.  There was a young woman on the other side holding an infant, looking immediately into the room and then down at a slip of paper.

“Where’s my little brother?  He gave me his word that he’d be here.  What have you done with him?”  The woman’s voice was shrill, and she was already pushing past a dumbfounded Liam, ignoring the weapon at his side and the other guns in the room that were pointed at her.

Emma stood from the computer slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself as she edged her way towards the agents guarding Michael.  She stopped abruptly when the woman made eye contact with her, keeping her hands where they could be easily seen.

“What’s your name?”  Emma asked quietly.  “Who’s your brother?”

“Wendy.  Wendy Dar…”

“Wendy!”  Michael screeched as he tore out of the bedroom, ducking under the agents’ outstretched hands and not stopping for anything until he was wrapped up in the woman’s embrace.  

Wendy dropped to her knees with an audible sob, clutching Michael to her chest as the baby in her other arm started wailing.

The two of them were talking over each other and Emma was chagrined.  How many times had she discounted Michael’s story about his siblings?  How many times had she believed that the family he spoke of was nothing more than a coping technique he had used as a young child lost in the system?

Liam and his agents were just as startled as Emma.  Not one of them had moved once Michael had run from the bedroom.  There was a bittersweet feel to the reunion, and it all seemed to click in Emma’s head at once.

_Your friend promised my sister would be okay.  Mr. Gold made a deal with him._

“Where’s Killian?”  The malice in Emma’s voice silenced the room.  Wendy looked up from where her face had been buried in Michael’s hair, and she nodded.

“Gold knew you’d put it together quickly.  He was impressed with how you found him.  I don’t know how much I can do to help, and I have no idea if he’ll keep Mr. Jones alive now that he’s released me,” she said to Liam.  “But I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

So it began.  Liam grilled Wendy while she sat at the kitchen table, pointing out places on the map of Chicago that Gold had sent her on errands and running her fingers absently through Michael’s hair as he refused to leave her side.  Emma listened with rapt attention, trying to ferret out any lies that Wendy might tell.

There were none.

They spoke for hours.  Wendy hadn’t been kept in the same location as Killian, and she could only guess as to where they were keeping him.  But it didn’t matter.  Once the analysts had a few known companies for Gold, the paper trail finally started to fall into place.  Robert and Malcolm had several buildings in the area that they used for business, and several others that they used for “business”.  Since a number of those buildings were actively used by other corporations, they could rule those out.  

But that still left three abandoned buildings spread out across the city.

“Emma?”  Liam drew her attention away from where the Ranger brothers – the two agents in charge of ferrying the Darling family back to Boston – were passing a handheld game back and forth to Michael.  They had a flight leaving in an hour.

There were two weapons in Liam’s hands, and he was holding both guns out to her.  “I found these both in Killian’s lockbox.  I wasn’t sure which one you preferred?”

Shock didn’t begin to cover what Emma was feeling.  She was going after Killian.  That had never been in doubt in her mind.  But she was sure that Liam would fight her on it.  To have him so openly accepting her place in Killian’s rescue left her reeling.  Numbly, Emma accepted the weapon that she’d come to think of as hers.

“We’re going to need to move quickly, you understand?  We need to find Killian before Gold…” Liam trailed off as his voice cracked, and he didn’t continue.

Emma’s own fear choked her into silence, and she could only nod.  They needed to hurry because Wendy’s appearance had likely signed Killian’s death warrant.  If they had any hope of rescuing him instead of recovering his body, they needed luck and a healthy dose of his tenacity.

_Hold on, Killian_ , she begged.   _Please just hold on.  We’re coming for you._

* * *

Liam could barely breathe as he sat in the SUV while the driver maneuvered expertly through Chicago’s traffic.  It had been a long time since he’d been in the field, and the rush of adrenaline - while never truly forgotten - did nothing to help calm his nerves.  And now, in this situation, he was even more frantic.

Killian needed him, and he wasn’t there.

His little brother was hurting, was possibly taking his last breaths if not… no, he couldn’t think of _that_ ,  Killian needed Liam and he was sitting in a car.

He’d made deals with devils before, had practically sold his soul to keep Killian safe and where Liam could keep an eye on him.

But this time, he was living on a wing and a prayer that they’d make it in time.

Sitting next to him, Emma was staring intently down at the H&K USP Compact in her hand.  The gun was a good fit for her; Killian had chosen it well.  Liam refused to allow that thought to fester – to evolve into the idea that maybe his little brother had chosen well in allowing her to tag along in the first place.

After all, they might never have found out about Chicago if not… Liam cut that thought off quickly before he started to wax poetic or devolve into ‘what ifs’.  He had a team of dedicated agents and analysts who would have figured out about Chicago eventually.  He didn’t need a civilian to do their jobs for him.

Liam glared at the weapon in Emma’s hands, and the ease in which she handled it.  She _was_ a civilian and he needed to remember that.  His brother _should_ have remembered that.  If he had, maybe they wouldn’t be rushing to his aid now.  Maybe Killian wouldn’t be…

“Stop thinking like that.”  Emma startled him when she smacked his knee and looked pointedly to where his fist was clenching spasmodically.  “We’ll find him.   _We_ will get him back.  I’m helping.  Understand?”

Liam let out the breath he was holding and focused.  He offered a curt nod and returned to the professional detachment he took immense pride in.  This was just another mission.  One of hundreds he had completed in his career.  It didn’t matter who the target was or how personally important the object of the mission was; he had a job to do.

His brother… his only remaining family was counting on him to complete it.

Liam turned to Emma, waiting until he had her full attention before he ordered, “You’re going to stay behind me.  I have no idea what we’re going into and I’m not going to be responsible if you go off half-cocked.”

Much as Liam wanted to ignore it, his brother had been right about one thing: _she’s less of a distraction at my side.  If I were to leave her behind, she’d find a way to come after me._

Emma wasn’t going to stay in the SUV.  She certainly hadn’t stayed in the hotel room where he wanted her.  She hadn’t even entertained the idea of going back to Boston.  At least this way, Liam could keep an eye on her.

Emma just stared blankly at him, and Liam had to bite back a smirk.  It seemed she had been gearing up for a fight, and his acceptance of her active involvement swept the rug out from under her.  There was barely concealed laughter in his voice when he asked, “Do we have an accord?”

She grumbled, sounding petulant and determined all in one breath as she nodded.  

Liam pulled up the schematics of the first building on his tablet, studying them for the most likely locations his brother would be imprisoned in.  He also looked for the likely choke points in the hallways and stairwells – they could both be an advantage and a disaster, depending on the situation.  There were a fair few, and if they had to fight their way out with an injured or unconscious Killian, it could get… interesting.

But missions like these were what every agent under Liam’s command trained for.  Adaptability was a skill that Liam required in his field agents, and it was one they excelled in.  If Killian had been able to hang on this long – and Liam had learned the hard way not to discount his brother’s tenacious hold on survival – then they would get him out.

The really interesting fight would take place after that.

It was well past midnight when the agent pulled the SUV into an alley around the corner from Gold’s warehouse.  Liam was praying that luck was on their side and they would find Killian in the first location.  He had no desire to do this more than once, and his brother certainly didn’t have that time.

They were a four man team – five with Emma – and Liam felt the responsibility for each one of them fall on his shoulders.  This wasn’t a mission for national security, for an acquisition for one of their clients, or even for a ransom gone wrong.  His agents had signed up for the inherent risks involved in those missions.  Those missions had an importance of their own – whether in monetary or patriotic rewards.  But this was the retrieval of one of their own.  In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a lucrative mission.

It was far more important.

But that didn’t negate the risks.  And Liam worried that he would have to make phone calls to loved ones after the mission to retrieve his brother.  How did he justify his brother’s life over any of this team?

Never mind that if his brother were to die before they could rescue him, there would be no one to call to offer condolences on Killian’s death.

And no one to call Liam.

Shaking the morbid thoughts from his mind, Liam thumbed the safety off his weapon and nodded.  They moved quickly, taking out the men patrolling the corridors without prejudice.  There was no time to second guess, no time to worry about the repercussions.  These were men who had thrown their lot in with Robert Gold – they had signed their death warrants the day they began perpetrating his illegal operations.  Liam may have been in the business for more years than he’d like to think of, but he still had to remind himself of the greater good every time he took a life.

_BANG!_

The bullet that whizzed by Liam’s ear obliterated all thoughts of ethics and morality from his mind.  He ducked and returned fire, sparing the briefest of glances to make sure that Emma was still safely behind him.

She was, and she had her own weapon raised and pointed towards the corner where their attacker had hidden.  Emma’s hand was trembling ever so slightly, but there was a resolute look on her face that surprised him.  

Maybe he didn’t have to worry quite so much about her.

Emma returned fire while he was watching her, and it was on the tip of his tongue to remind her to conserve ammunition when he heard the cry behind him.  Whirling around to look, Liam saw a man writhing on the floor before falling still.

He was still catching up to events when Emma brushed past him, moving down the hall behind Locksley, Dale, and Little.  Liam scrambled up, pulling her violently behind him and ignoring the scowl.

And then he heard Killian.

The shrill cry of tortured agony stopped him dead in his tracks.  It was an animalistic shriek of pain that was like nothing Liam had ever heard before.  Killian’s anguish echoed through the halls and rattled through Liam’s bones until he shivered against the terror.  He didn’t know what could have made his brother scream quite like that, but God help any man who got in his way before he could find out.

Before he could make it better.

It took only a few steps for Liam to realize that the eerie silence that followed Killian’s scream was far, far worse than the noise had been.  He found himself repeating over and over, “please make a noise, please make a sound, please do something.”

He needed to hear _anything_ from Killian to prove that _that_ sound wasn’t his last.  He couldn’t have _that sound_ be the last memory he had of the boy he had taught to ride a bike, the boy who had hidden under Liam’s blankets when the night was too dark.  The man who had made him proud so many times.

He needed to know his little brother was still alive.

Systematically, the team moved through the floors, working their way down to the basement where the chances for escape were far less likely.  They encountered minimal resistance, and the men they did come across were dispatched quickly.  There was no apparent radio communication, and Liam counted that as luck even as he wondered at the hubris that caused it.

Then, his focus was laser pointed on the men guarding the landing leading to the basement door.   _These_ men had earwigs, semi-automatic weapons, and body armor.  If his brother wasn’t being held on this floor, they had stumbled on a goldmine that could bring down the entire Gold organization.

But that was a thought for later.  Anything that detracted from Killian’s rescue was secondary.

Liam stepped back, pulling Emma with him and watching as his team of agents took up positions on the landing above their targets.  These men were known within JR Solutions as the Merry Men.  This particular group of agents had been together since Liam and Killian had opened the doors.  Getting in their way would be detrimental to their goals.

It was over in four silenced shots.

They picked their way over the bodies, ignoring the neat holes in their targets’ foreheads and the bloody footprints the agents left behind as they moved down the hall.  There was an open door, and something compelled Liam to look in.

He saw dried blood on the floor and on a dingy mattress that was shoved to the side of the tiny space.  The sight of it made Liam sick.  This had been where they kept Killian.  He was sure of it.

The sounds of a struggle filled the air and quickened their steps.  Hope started to trickle through; maybe his brother was still alive.  Maybe that was him fighting for his freedom.  Maybe…

It went eerily silent yet again, and Liam couldn’t breathe.

“Well?”  That single word rang through the hall and chilled his blood.  There was something about it that made Liam want to burst into the room, strategic entry be damned.

“You’ll have to kill me first.”  Hearing Killian’s voice nearly buckled Liam’s knees, and he saw Emma’s shoulders visibly drop in relief as well.  His little brother’s voice sounded terrified, but he was still alive.  That was _everything_ to Liam.  All they had to do was get him out of there, and then everything else could be dealt with.  Killian may be resigned to whatever fate Gold had for him, but there was still a steel to his words that told Liam everything – his little brother wasn’t broken.

Not yet, anyway.

“Ah, ah, I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for you, sonny boy.”  There was a cackling laugh that could have come out of a B-rated movie, and Liam couldn’t wait any longer.

“Go, go, go!” he whispered harshly and right on cue Locksley and his men burst through the door, weapons raised and firing.  Man after man fell, but Liam couldn’t take his eyes off the one towering over his brother.

The gleam of a knife as it started to arc down towards Killian captivated him for a split second before he and Emma fired simultaneously - the retort of the weapons ringing in his ears.  Someone’s bullet hit Gold in the shoulder, another tore through his forearm and caused the knife to clatter to the table.  The man screamed, backing swiftly away from Killian and cursing as he fell.

But Liam only heard his brother’s agonized cry.

Killian’s eyes were squeezed shut and his entire body was trembling.  Liam could hear the sharp gasps his brother was audibly making as he tried to keep breathing.  His shoulders were hunched up, almost around his ears, and when the man who had kept him in a stranglehold fell back with a cry of his own and a bullet buried in his shoulder, Killian’s head dropped painfully to the table.

His head didn’t rise.

Liam rushed forward, holstering his weapon more out of reflex than any conscious thought, and he dropped to his knees next to Killian.  He reached out and squeezed his little brother’s shoulder, disheartened when the man pulled away from him as much as he was able, shaking and making tiny, panicked whimpers.

Liam’s heart felt like it shattered into countless pieces.

“It’s all right, little brother.  You’re safe.”  Liam kept his voice soft, the fear in Killian’s tense frame turning his stomach.  He didn’t let go of Killian’s shoulder, murmuring nonsense as he rubbed his thumb in circles soothingly.  Emma moved into the room, stepping to Killian’s other side and carding her fingers through his sweaty hair.  If she kicked violently at the cowering man at her feet, Liam wasn’t going to mention it again.  He’d like to do far worse to every one of Gold’s associates in this room.

“No more, please, God, no more.”  If Liam hadn’t knelt so close to his brother, if the words weren’t breathed into his ear, he’d never have heard them.  No one was _meant_ to hear Killian’s fear.

It rang through Liam as though his brother had shouted from the rooftops.

“No more, Killian, I promise,” Liam whispered.  “No more, little brother.  You can rest now.  You’re safe.  I’ve got you.  Stand down now, sailor.”

Emma’s soft voice echoed his own, her words of comfort mixed with his own assurances.

The two of them working together to comfort Killian seemed to break through the terror that had his brother frozen, and Liam slowly felt the muscles in the shoulder under his hand start to loosen.  He was still shaking, still unresponsive, but the whimpers quieted and Killian stopped trying to pull away from Liam’s grasp.

Locksley nodded to Liam, signaling that the room was clear and the targets subdued.  Nodding back to his agent, Liam pulled his knife and sawed at the ropes holding Killian’s arm to the table.

With his hand free, Killian’s tremors finally began to subside, and he pulled the limb protectively to his chest, still not opening his eyes.  Liam took the knife and cut his other hand free of the chair before reaching down to rid Killian of the binds around his ankles.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?  Oh God, it’s gone.  Please tell me this is just a nightmare.  Please, God, don’t let it be gone.”  The frantic, whispered pleas broke Liam’s heart, and he abandoned the knife to grasp Killian’s left hand.  His brother gasped sharply at the feeling and his fingers spasmed before locking around Liam’s own, the grip bordering on painful.

“You’re all right, little brother.  It’s still there.  You’re all right, we’ve got you.  You’re safe now.”  He kept whispering, over and over, trying to break through.

It took awhile, but when Liam finally got through to him, Killian’s sigh of relief was pronounced.  After another moment of heaving breaths, his head rolled to the side so they could lock gazes.  “Hi, Liam,” he whispered hoarsely.

Liam laughed in sheer relief.  “Well, hello there.”

The eye that met his own was glazed over and slightly unfocused, the other one swollen completely shut.  There was blood caking the side of Killian’s head and his lip was split wide open – it would need stitches to close.

In the background, Liam could hear Locksley calling in the scene to a contact in the Chicago FBI office, but he put it out of his mind.

It didn’t matter.  None of it did now that Killian was safe.

He reached out again to cut the ropes from Killian’s ankles, but had to do so with his left hand – his brother wouldn’t let go of his right one.  Tightening his grip, Liam asked softly, “How are you doing?”

His little brother was practically frantic as he began firing off questions of his own.  “Did Emma call you?  Did she say Michael found her?  Gold swore the boy would be safe, but I don’t know if-”  

Liam cut him off.

“-Michael’s fine, Killian.  He and his sister are on their way back to Boston.  How are _you_?”

“And Emma?  She’s okay?  I didn’t see any of Gold’s men in the shop with her that day, but…”  Killian’s words were starting to slur together, but his gaze was bright with worry.

“ _Killian_ ,” he interrupted in a tone that demanded his brother listen.  “Do you really think that’s one of our men patting your head like you’re a stray puppy?”

Liam raised his eyes to where Emma was glaring at him.

Killian rolled his forehead on the table until he turned so he could see Emma smiling sadly down at him.  “Hey, beautiful.  Are you all right?”

Her laugh sounded watery, and Liam watched as she knelt down and moved forward until their foreheads touched on the table.  They whispered back and forth for a moment, so he finally turned his attention to the scene around them.  Locksley signaled that he was taking care of everything, and Liam started gearing up for the fight Killian would surely put up when they tried to call an ambulance for him.

“Liam couldn’t get rid of you, then?”  Killian’s question caught his attention, and he focused back in on his brother.

Emma smirked and caught his gaze.  “He didn’t even try.  I think your brother’s warming up to me.”

“Hardly.”  Liam rolled his eyes good naturedly, smiling at Emma before laying his free hand on Killian’s back to get his attention again, ignoring the way his brother flinched as if he’d be struck.  “Are you ready to answer my question yet?”

Killian finally sat up away from the table, slumping down in the chair when the effort proved to be too taxing, and letting Emma support most of his weight as he rested his head on her shoulder.  She kissed his brow and ran her free hand down his arm until she clutched his wrist just above where Liam was still holding Killian’s hand.

“What question?”  Killian’s voice was starting to fade, and Liam started to worry.  Most of his injuries seemed superficial, the head injury appeared to be the most concerning.  The sheer number of injuries had made him worry a bit initially, but the weakness in Killian’s voice scared him.

“You know the one.  Ambulance, hospital, or home, little brother?”  He knew it would be a fight.  His brother never wanted anyone to see him less than able, less than resilient.  He would want to walk out of here under his own power.  Liam had no idea what was hiding beneath the tatters of his shirt, what Killian might be trying to push through to keep up the strong façade.  He had no intention of letting his brother out of that chair without a paramedic or three there to monitor him.  But he would allow Killian the illusion of control after so many days of being held captive.  He knew that his brother needed that at the moment even more than he needed medication and an extended hospital stay.

When Killian finally answered him, however, Liam’s blood ran cold.

"I think, just this once, brother, that I'll take the ambulance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I forget, I hope everyone has a relaxing few days now that Killian is safe in his brother's and Emma's care. Because of the upcoming holiday, it's going to be 2 weeks before I can post the last chapter, so hopefully the somewhat calm ending to this chapter makes up for the extra wait.
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone and if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd love to see what you all thought about this chapter and all the rest!  
> To my loyal reviewers who have been with me all the way, thank you so much. Your continued support of this story means everything to this author!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Hope you all have as relaxing of a winter holiday as humanly possible, and we'll see you in the New Year for the end of this epic tale.
> 
> (and by epic, I mean that with edits, the completed story will be officially longer than each of the first two Harry Potter novels, just beating out Chamber of Secrets by a few hundred words)


	18. Affairs in Order

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

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* * *

_"I think, just this once, brother, that I'll take the ambulance.”_

Emma’s breath caught in her throat, her arm unconsciously tightening around Killian’s shoulders.  She couldn’t tear her eyes from the gash on his wrist as his blood seeped through her fingers.  Her body shook with the tremors that coursed through him as he tucked his head more firmly under her chin.

He’d _asked_ for an ambulance.  That fact kept racing around Emma’s brain and leaving a sour taste in her mouth.  She’d seen him shot, heard him sew up his own skin, and nursed him through the aftermath without him thinking he needed _any_ medical attention.  To hear him readily accept help now – and public help at that?  Emma was terrified of what he was hiding.

But Killian’s head was on her shoulder and his voice, while raspy, was soothing her frazzled nerves.

Liam’s men moved systematically around them, cleansing the area or whatever it was they were responsible for.  She didn’t care.  Killian was still sitting in the chair they’d found him in - mostly unaided - but he was fading fast.  He’d been beaten badly and Emma didn’t want to think about what else he’d endured.  The scream they’d all heard was still echoing in her ears, and she was positive that it would feature in her nightmares for weeks to come.

Killian had been _terrified_ , she’d heard it plainly in that agonized yell, and for the first time since Liam had barged into the hotel, Emma had been truly afraid.  Afraid they wouldn’t find him in time.  Afraid of what they _would_ find even if they did make it before Gold killed him.

Afraid that she’d lose Killian before she even had a chance to really have him.

It only took a few more minutes before Liam’s agents disappeared like ghosts and men in navy blue windbreakers emblazoned “FBI” swarmed around them.  Emma paid them no more mind than the Jones brothers did.  She was somewhat aware of her surroundings, but she was far more concerned with the way Killian tensed at every noise.

Then Gold cackled, and Killian whimpered under his breath.

Emma was on her feet before she even realized she’d moved.

“You think this is over, Jones?” Gold hissed, still giggling maniacally.  “You think that you’ve won?  It will only be a matter of time bef-”

Emma shook her hand as pain erupted across her knuckles.  She watched as Gold lifted his head from where it had snapped to the side, still sneering.  Before he could speak again, Emma hauled back and punched him once more.  The sickening sound of bone crunching as his nose spread across his face was satisfying.  The blood that poured down Gold’s face was just a fraction of what he deserved.  She wanted to hit him again.  She wanted to dig her fingers into the bullet wound in his shoulder.  She wanted...

“Emma,” Killian’s soft whisper cut through the haze of red that had taken over her vision.  Her head whipped around, Gold forgotten in the need to hear what Killian wanted - what he _needed_.

He smiled, the gap in his lip widening, and he cocked his head to the side.  “Come here, love.  Please?”

Like she could deny him anything at the moment.

Forgetting that Gold even existed, Emma crossed the room again, dropping back down next to Killian and tucking herself around his side.  The fingers of her right hand tangled in the sweat-drenched locks at the nape of his neck, her left hand hugging him close to her side.  Killian practically melted into her embrace, his breath rushing out of him in an audible ‘whoosh’ as he finally relaxed completely.

Emma didn’t leave Killian’s side until two EMTs insistently moved her out of the way, and she watched intently from the sidelines as they worked.

Liam refused to move from his brother’s side with a growl that would have cowed even the fiercest of men.

It almost made Emma grin.

Then she remembered the reason for it, and her heart clenched painfully.

Everything had happened so quickly that Emma wasn’t entirely sure she’d caught up yet.  They’d found Killian shortly after she’d shot and maybe _killed_ people.  Robert Gold and the man who had kidnapped Michael back in Boston were both in custody, no longer a threat, and Killian was safe and being looked after.

Killian was hurt, he’d been afraid, he _wanted_ medical care.

He was going to be all right; but Emma wasn’t sure _she_ was okay just yet.

Everything had happened so _fast_.

The EMT’s were moving Killian onto a gurney before Emma could comprehend everything that she’d seen them do.  There was an oxygen mask on his face and an IV in his arm.  A heavy, woolen blanket was tucked in tightly before he was strapped down, and Emma panicked when they started to wheel him away.

She must have made a noise because both the EMTs and Killian turned to look at her.  Liam smiled softly at her from his place at his brother’s side, and leaned down to listen to Killian’s muffled words.  He nodded at his brother and then cocked his head to the side, meeting her eyes.

“There’s room for two of us in the ambulance if you’re planning on tagging along, lass.  I’d hate to lose track of you after all this.”  There was a bit of wry sarcasm in Liam’s tone, but Emma ignored it in the face of the relief she felt at not having to let Killian out of her sight.

Her need to be near him startled her as she raced to walk on Killian’s right side as they headed for the elevator.  She had spent so long relying on herself and _only_ herself that she still wasn’t entirely sure when Killian had gone and snuck past her defenses.

But he had.  

Emma couldn’t find it in her to worry about it.  Not when he’d done so much, given up so much, to keep his promise to her.  Looking at him now, bruised and beaten but still unbroken, Emma was sure that it was more than enough for her.

The flashing lights of the ambulances and black SUVs hurt her eyes, and she had to blink rapidly as she hurried with Killian.  They loaded him into the back, Liam climbing in with the gurney and one of the EMTs, and Emma stood frozen.

There was no more room for her.

“This way, Miss.”  A soft, Midwestern accent spoke up from her elbow and she turned to see the other medic gesturing to the front of the ambulance.  Her stomach clenched as she walked past the doors and lost sight of Killian.  As quickly as she could, Emma climbed into the front seat and buckled her seatbelt.  

She wanted to be in the back, too.  She needed to see that Killian was all right.  She needed…

“I’m right here, Emma.”  His voice was soft and muffled by the oxygen mask, but when she turned abruptly to look over her shoulder, she could see Killian’s head craning over the top of the gurney.  His blue eyes met hers and her stomach settled.  She smiled back at him and finally relaxed.

It was over.  They were all safe now.

When the ambulance started moving, Killian relaxed into the gurney and their eye contact broke, but Emma found herself still calm.  She could hear the rhythmic beeping of the machines that were monitoring Killian, and she reveled in them.  She watched Liam as he sat on the bench to Killian’s left, still clutching his brother’s hand with both of his own.  The EMT in the back worked around the locked hands, and it was only a few minutes into the ride when Emma saw Killian’s grip go slack.

Liam’s soft smile and the continued steady beeping from the monitors kept her from panicking.  

Killian was finally resting.

The calm lasted until the ambulance pulled into the bay at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.  There was a flurry of activity as Killian was whisked away from them - despite Liam’s protests as his hands were peeled from Killian’s - amidst shouts of tests that needed to be run and equipment that needed to be transferred to “Trauma 3”.  Then, the two of them were left unceremoniously in a waiting room with no information and a mountain of paperwork to fill out.

Emma paced.

Liam sat.

Eventually, a young woman came to move them to a more private waiting room on one of the upper floors of the hospital.  She assured them that someone would be by when there was any information, but that Killian had been admitted.

Emma continued to pace.

Liam sat.

It infuriated her to see him so calm.  His brother was in some unknown state of health after being held captive for days by a man so ruthless that he profited from the trafficking of children.  Killian hadn’t even fought the EMTs when they strapped him down, and now no one would tell them _anything_.

“How do you do it?”  Emma broke the silence when it seemed as though they would never hear about Killian.  Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, but she let the question hang between them.

Liam looked up from the files one of his agents had dropped off.  “Do what, lass?”

She threw her hands up in the air, staring at him incredulously.  “Do _what_?  Worry about him!  All the time!  Send him out on missions like this knowing that with the way he is, _this_ is how it’s probably going to end up.  And then just sit there like it’s nothing.  How do you do it?”

Liam shrugged, a wry smile on his face.  “He ain’t heavy.  He’s m’ brother.”

And that was all there was to it, she supposed.  Emma had only known Killian Jones for a few weeks, and she was already certain that he was never going to give it up.  Liam had known him for their whole lives.  He knew he couldn’t change his brother.  So that was what it all boiled down to.  Could Liam accept that this was how Killian thrived?

Could _she_?

Emma had come into this arrangement convinced that at the end of it, she and Killian would go their separate ways and that would be the end of it.  She didn’t need to learn how to accept Killian’s quirks and self-sacrifices.  It was just business, Gold’s downfall for him and Michael’s safety for her, and nothing else should have come from it.

Nothing else was _supposed_ to come from it.

And now?

Now she wanted to charge down the hall until she found whatever room they had squirreled Killian away in and watch him sleep.  She wanted to take him back to Boston and figure out what came next as it unfolded.  She wanted to know what it was like to worry about him and understand him all at once.

_He ain’t heavy.  He’s mine._

Emma wasn’t sure about where they stood, not entirely, but thought she could learn to accept that.

* * *

"Family of Killian Jones?”  

The doctor’s curt voice woke Liam from the half-asleep state he’d fallen into some time after dawn had broken.  Emma had finally collapsed into a chair near the window, but judging by the number of Styrofoam cups on the table next to her, she hadn’t slept.  It made him smile to see her care so much.  

His brother needed that.

Maybe he’d been wrong about her, after all.  He’d never tell either of them that, though.

Belatedly, Liam stood up and acknowledged the doctor, internally tamping down the worry that surfaced when he realized exactly how long he’d been sitting in the waiting room… waiting.

“I’m Killian’s brother.  How is he?”  His voice wavered ever so slightly, but the physician smiled gently at him before consulting his chart.  Liam let out the breath that had gotten stuck in his chest.

“My name is Doctor Alan Cooper, I’ve been treating Mr. Jones.  Should we speak somewhere privately?”  Cooper nodded his head at Emma, who had risen and made her way over to them.  Liam could see the worry she was trying to hide - it was written in the brightness of her eyes.

“No,” Liam countered, turning so Emma was more fully involved in the conversation.  “No, she’s with Killian as well.  How is he?”

Cooper accepted this easily.  “Of course.  Well, your brother was very lucky.  I’ve been told, _repeatedly_ , that I don’t ‘need to know’ the circumstances surrounding his injuries.  But from what I can gather, he took several risks with his health that I find concerning.”

Liam nodded, then coughed to cover Emma’s scoff.  He knew there was a bullet wound in Killian’s side that she was intimately aware of.  Not to mention the results of Gold’s work.  Liam saw red at the memory.

Oblivious to Liam’s anger, the doctor continued.  “We’ve admitted your brother for observation of his various injuries.  Our biggest concern at the moment is that he has developed pneumonia, and that, on top of his other issues, puts him at risk for complications.  Beyond that, the gunshot wound to his left flank appears to be at least a week old, and has begun to scar over.  This wound resulted in a small splenic laceration that could have caused severe problems.  We’ll be monitoring that carefully.  He also has a comminuted fracture of his orbital bone, but it seems to be relatively stable.  On top of all that, he appears to be suffering symptoms of a concussion, but we asked him, and he can’t remember how long ago the initial injury occurred so...”

Liam latched onto that even as Cooper listed more of Killian’s injuries.  Killian ‘couldn’t remember’ – but they’d asked him about the concussion.  That meant his brother was conscious.  Liam was okay with everything else.  His little brother had been awake at some point and wasn’t lying half-dead in a coma in a room somewhere.

Emma seemed to hear the same thing Liam had, as she melted into his side with an audible sigh.  Liam smiled down at the ease in which she buried her face in his shoulder, and he could feel the way her whole body shifted as she let some of the stress go.  It seemed perfectly natural to lay his arm over her shoulders and pull her into his side to share their relief.

Killian was going to be okay.

The doctor rattled off a few more issues and admonishments that he couldn’t take a proper history, but then relented and gave them Killian’s room number.

Liam was pretty sure he thanked Cooper for everything he’d done, but couldn’t actually remember the conversation as he and Emma raced down the hall.

Killian looked small.

It was a notion he hadn’t associated with his brother since long before he’d entered the Navy, since Killian was a young miscreant intent on taking on the world with his fists and his anger.  Now, lying in a hospital bed and attached to several machines and IV drips, there was no other description that fit.

He looked impossibly small.

But Killian’s non-swollen eye was open, if heavy-lidded, and the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose did little to disguise the half-drunk smile at seeing the two of them.  His little brother was clearly high as a kite.

The fist that had been clenching at Liam’s heart since Emma had called him in a panic finally let go.

Killian needed time to heal, yes, but he was going to be just fine.

* * *

Killian was somewhat aware of the time he spent in the ambulance with Liam at his side, then of the terror that gripped him when they were separated in the emergency room, then of the apathy that overtook him as sedatives coursed through him.  He slept through being admitted, content to rest now that he was blanketed by an unrelenting feeling of safety.  His drug-addled brain couldn’t pinpoint _how_ he knew he was safe.  Just that he was.

Now, in a room that smelled of disinfectant, Killian floated above the pain and the fear of his memories.

 _There’s something to this whole ‘convalescing in a hospital’ lark_ , he thought idly as he traced the fascinating pattern on the thin blanket covering him.  For one, the drugs were far better than what he routinely pilfered from Whale’s stock whenever the physician’s back was turned.  For another, despite the baleful glares that the doctor assigned to his care kept giving him, no one was actively trying to kill him at the moment.  If he ignored the pain in his chest every time he tried to breathe and the incessant questions that he couldn’t answer until his brother had given him leave, he wasn’t bothered by too much at the moment.

But there was _something_ he was missing.  Something that was flitting about just out of reach; something important that the drugs wouldn’t let him remember.

So he slept.

They poked and prodded.  They asked him questions he either didn’t want to or couldn’t answer.  They x-rayed and scanned and drew blood.  And he floated along with it, unsure if he should be concerned with the number of tests that were going on around him.  Now that the adrenaline rush was abating, he hurt and he felt ill.  He wanted to curl up in a ball and lick his wounds in private.

But they kept pumping him with medications and asking him questions and trying to make him take deep breaths.

Didn’t they understand that breathing _hurt_?

He wanted his brother to come and make them stop.  There were times when he hated that Liam insisted on reminding him he was the “little brother”, but right now what Killian really wanted was for his big brother to step in and make it stop.  

Make them leave him alone.

He was partially sure that the drugs were lowering his inhibitions to an extreme extent, and he was just thankful that no one was privy to his internal monologue just then.  

Liam would never let him live _that_ down.

So he slept.

When Killian woke again, he had been moved to a private room and there was only a nurse in the room, monitoring his vitals.  Some of the haze of the past few hours had faded, and there was a bit of light peeking through under the shade.  The young woman was pretty enough, but her blonde hair finally reminded him of what he had been missing earlier.

 _Emma_.

He wanted to see Emma.

Killian didn’t remember what happened to her after the EMTs showed up.  Liam had stayed with him until it went dark in the ambulance, and he knew his brother would be close by even now.  But had Emma gone back to Boston?  Or was she waiting with Liam?

He tried to get the nurse’s attention, but his garbled speech just made her smile as she walked out of the room.  Killian tried to glare at her retreating back, but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Besides, Liam would be here soon, and he would know where Emma was.

So he slept.

Killian wasn’t asleep for long, the uncomfortable feeling of the mask on his face and the dry oxygen keeping him from a deep sleep.  There were beeping monitors to his right and adhesive tape pulling on his skin every time he moved.  The medicine pumping through the IV was keeping most of his discomfort at bay, but they had definitely lowered the dosage to the point where he was able to string multiple thoughts together and he wasn’t enthralled with the shiny patterns dancing around him any longer.

And then he saw them.  

Emma and Liam, beaming like bloody _morons_ from the doorway.  There was a haunted look in their eyes, only half hidden by the grins, so he tried to smile back at them in reassurance.

“You’re an idiot.”  Emma broke the silence first, and Killian nodded amicably.

He smirked.  “You’ve told me that before, love.  At least you didn’t have to haul me across a room this time?”  His voice was muffled by the mask and he reached to take it off.

The twin glares from his brother and his… and from Emma stopped Killian’s hand midway to his face.  He slowly dropped his hand back to his side, not wanting to provoke either of them.

Maybe there _wasn’t_ much to this convalescing in a hospital lark after all.

* * *

The quiet of the private room in the hospital was mildly unnerving to Emma.  She could see people moving out in the corridor through the windows, but the closed door shut out all the noise.  The only things she _could_ hear were the various machines whirring and beeping, and Killian’s breaths.

And Liam’s snores in the corner of the room where he was sprawled on the small couch under the window.

Emma rolled her eyes at him.

But she was thankful for Liam, too.  He’d basically browbeat the hospital staff into moving Killian to a private room and then told them in no uncertain terms that ‘visiting hours’ didn’t apply to himself or Emma.

Protective custody, he’d called it.  National security, he’d claimed with a badge that Emma was sure had no actual pull.

Gift horses and mouths and all that, however, she mused as she watched Killian’s chest rise and fall.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, the fever he’d been battling for the past few days sapping most of his energy.  He had woken a few times in various stages of awareness, but mostly he slept.

Emma hadn’t left his side for longer than a few minutes since the hospital had acquiesced to Liam’s ‘requests’.

Then again, neither had Liam.

It hadn’t taken the two of them long to fall into an unconscious schedule, working in shifts to make sure that one of them was always awake in case Killian needed something.  Most times it was a hand to hold as he struggled to wake from his nightmares.  Occasionally, it was a sip or two of water when his voice croaked as he asked after them.  All too often, it was an arm behind his back to lift him up and brace him as he caught his breath against the coughs that stole it.

Far too many times for Emma’s piece of mind, it was a fierce hug as he gasped awake, the terror in his eyes all too real as he struggled to separate reality from memory.  Those times, when Killian buried his face in the crook of her neck and gripped the back of her shirt with as much strength as he could muster, Emma put her own fears and insecurities aside as she hushed him and cuddled him close.

He needed the comfort far more than her walls needed their distance.

“Emma!  No!”  Killian’s cry echoed through the quiet and she was sitting on the mattress by Killian’s hip even before he could sit up fully.  Emma pulled him forward, tucking his head under her chin and wrapping her arms around him before he could reach for her.  Killian’s shoulders heaved as he started to hack - short, barky coughs that stole his breath.  He shivered, tremors shaking his whole body that Emma could feel as she ran her hand up and down his back.  She caught Liam’s eye when he made to get up and she shook her head - she had this, he could sleep some more.

“Shhh, Killian, you’re safe.  I’m here,” she whispered, her hands gentle as they soothed him.  Emma could feel the fever burning through him, could hear the hitched breaths, could see the goosebumps on his bare back.

“You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe.”  Killian’s manic whisper, breathed out against her collarbone, broke her heart.  It wasn’t the first time he’d replaced himself with her in his nightmares.

“I’m safe.  You kept me safe, Killian.  It’s all right now,” she whispered back.  Emma reached behind her for the blanket to drape over his shoulders before he could catch cold.

The audible whimper and the tensing of his entire body when she let go of him shattered what was left of her heart.  “Shhh,” Emma soothed, throwing the material quickly over his shoulders and hugging him close.

Killian relaxed immediately in her grip.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they sat there, with him tangling his fingers in her shirt and her burying her nose in his hair.  It seemed that time around them stopped until Killian finally sagged, his energy spent.  She eased him back against the pillows, keeping him close until the last instant.

Killian wasn’t the only one who needed the physical reminder that they were here and safe.

With a kiss to his brow, Emma tried to sit back, wanting just another moment at his side before she returned to the uncomfortable chair to resume her vigil.

Killian refused to let go.

Emma struggled for a moment to wiggle out of his grip, certain that he’d fallen asleep before she’d lowered him down.  “Kil-”

“-Stay,” he whispered in her ear, tightening his grip as much as he was able.

Emma huffed out a breath when his words registered.  “I don’t think-”

“-Please?” Emma could hear the note of uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask.

Well, what was she supposed to do when he sounded like _that_?

Emma shifted around until her back didn’t feel like she was twisted in a pretzel, her head under his chin and her arms wrapped around his torso.  There was no way she wasn’t pressing against some injury or other, no way that Liam or the doctors or the nurses weren’t going to have some protest against this new arrangement.

But Killian’s breathing eased and his grip slackened as she felt his relief as palpably as if it had coursed through her instead of him.  She forced herself to stay awake until his breathing evened out and his soft snores harmonized with Liam’s from across the room.  Once she was sure he was asleep, she closed her eyes with a fierce thought.

They’d have to pry Killian out of her cold, dead fingers before she’d leave his embrace as long as he wanted her there.

* * *

Killian was just _done_ with it all.  

He was done with the nurses and their constant attention, the doctors and their constant disapproval of his escape attempts.  He was done with his brother’s incessant coddling and his… and Emma’s smug smile as she dared him to prove he was “just fine” as he continuously claimed.

He wasn’t fine.  

He knew that.

Perhaps he’d just like someone to pretend for a moment.  Or two.

The pulmonary lung function tests that the therapists tortured him with on a relatively structured basis told him exactly how poorly he was still doing in objective numbers.  His face was still badly swollen, the burns itched, he was sure he could feel every bone as it knit back together, and he was all-around miserable.

But Liam had pulled some strings, and as soon as the respiratory terrorists – as he’d come to call them in his head – were placated, he was being transported via medical transport back to Boston.  Whale was waiting for him with a litany of his own tests and restrictions, Killian was sure, but at least he’d be on his own turf.

And Emma had barely left his side.  Liam had offered to send her home after the first few touch and go days, but she’d refused.  She had started out as Killian’s partner, she told his brother, and so she was going to end it the same way.

It took a few more days, and more than a little cajoling, but Killian was able to walk from one end of the corridor to the other without oxygen, his fever had stayed broken for more than 48 hours, and his lung functions were “passable”.  The medical staff agreed that he was well enough to be transported to Whale’s care.

He was going _home_.

Drugged up beyond belief, apparently, if the fact that he was sitting in a wheelchair in Logan Airport before he realized they’d taken off from Chicago was any indication.  Part of Killian was convinced that the doctors at Northwestern had given him so much medication as revenge for all the trouble he had caused; the rational part of him was glad he didn’t remember the flight.

He bore the use of the wheelchair with ill-disguised distaste.  He had been itching to walk out of the airport on his own, but the looks on Liam and Emma’s faces disabused him of that inclination.

Killian heard Michael before he saw him.  The little boy yelled for Emma, then tore free of Wendy’s grip and bolted across the floor until he was wrapped around Emma’s legs.  His sister came up at a more sedate pace and behind her was the couple Killian had seen only briefly in the hospital all those weeks ago – the ones concerned that Emma had signed herself out AMA after being attacked by Malcolm.

“Emma!”  The petite woman with black hair called out with a high-pitched squeal as she followed Michael’s example and wrapped Emma in a hug.  Her husband followed suit, cradling the back of her blonde head protectively as his other arm wrapped around both women.  “Graham couldn’t tell us anything.  We’ve been so worried!”

“I know,” Emma spoke into their shoulders, “I’m sorry.  How did you know I was here?”

“I thought you might want them here, so I called them, lass,” Liam interjected, reaching out to shake the man’s outstretched hand.  “You must be David and Mary Margaret?”

David replaced his hand on the back of Emma’s head and Killian smiled at the gesture.  The couple were protecting her from anything and everything, and he was glad to see that someone other than him wanted that for her.

It took her a minute, but eventually Emma stepped back from her whispered conversation and stepped up to his side.  “This is Killian.  He’s the reason we were able to get Michael back.  He’s the reason we found Wendy.”

Mary Margaret stepped forward and surprised him.  She reached down and hugged him tightly.  “Thank you for bringing them all home.”

He smiled in response, but could feel the tips of his ears heat up.  He didn’t think he deserved the thanks.  

Emma and Liam had saved _him_.

“What is it you do exactly, Killian?”  David asked, reaching forward to shake his hand.  There was a sharp edge to his words.

Killian looked to Liam.  This was why he preferred to fade into the background.

“He’s a freelance hero.”  Emma cut in with a smile, her eyes sparkling with laughter and deflecting the seriousness of the question easily.

Killian laughed until he started coughing.  It took him a moment to catch his breath, her hand rubbing his back until he could sit up straight.  Unable to let her best him, however, he countered with, “You make me sound like I have tights and a cape, love.”

David and Mary Margaret looked a bit perplexed, but let it go as Michael and Wendy came forward to shake his hand as well.  He was surprised when Michael climbed into his lap and curled against his chest.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered into Killian’s ear.  

He had to bite his tongue to keep the tears at bay.  “Of course, lad.”

“Can I have a ride?” the boy asked innocently, grinning when Killian nodded.

It hurt far less than Killian would have imagined when he realized Michael’s smile matched John’s exactly.  He settled the boy more securely and let Liam push them both towards the exit.

It took them another few minutes before they made it out to the waiting SUV and Killian could feel his strength waning.  He wanted nothing more than to sink into the front seat and nap until they got back to the brownstone.  To his own bed.  

To his _home_.

But as Liam shut the passenger side door after making sure Killian was set, he realized that, of course, Emma wasn’t following.  For the first time since he’d saved her from… since she’d saved herself from her burning apartment, they weren’t going the same way.

His phone rang with a text.  It was an unknown number.

**_Your brother better not have lost my blanket!_ **

Killian laughed so hard that his ribs protested.

They were going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kind of sorta maybe (unintentionally) misled you all a couple weeks ago when I said that I wouldn’t be able to post this chapter last week because it was the holidays. As I was rereading it after I posted chapter 17, I discovered that I disliked approximately 90% of how I wrote this chapter originally. I knew I wasn’t going to be happy with it if I posted as is, so with the holidays, I wasn’t going to have time to rewrite it. After Christmas, I sat down and rewrote pretty much the entire chapter and, in doing so, kind of sorta maybe wrote so much more into it that I added an entire chapter’s length. The epilogue-y bit that was SUPPOSED to go at the end of this chapter kind of sorta maybe will be posted either next Wednesday or the Wednesday after. Since it’s likely going to be almost (if not completely) as long as this chapter was.  
> I know - you're all heartbroken that there's going to be one last chapter. :-D


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't apologize enough for leaving off the ending of this for almost a month. I did complete another fic that was under deadline before this, but I still hoped to complete this sooner.

 

  


**_Look at the amazing art that[shady-swan-jones](http://shady-swan-jones.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr did for my fic!_**

* * *

* * *

She shouldn’t be here.

They were home now, back in Boston, and things were supposed to go back to normal.  Emma had plenty of things to do in order to accomplish that.  She needed to settle back into her life.  She still needed to find a new place to stay, to deal with the insurance claim on her destroyed apartment - and thank David for getting the ball rolling on that - before the adjuster wrote her off as a lost cause, she needed to salvage what was left of her sparse belongings, and she needed to beg and plead for her boss to understand why she’d been gone for so long.  She needed to get back into a schedule that didn’t include running cell phone traces and cleaning weapons and chasing down evil men.

Instead, it was 2AM and Emma was pacing up and down the stairs to the Jones’ brownstone.

She shouldn’t be here.

She _should_ go back to Mary Margaret’s, curl up on the bed in the spare room, and try to sleep.  But it had been three long nights of tossing and turning on the too-small, too-empty bed without more than an hour or so of exhausted stupor before her alarm clock went off and the chipper sounds of the house waking for the day dragged her towards the promise of coffee.  

So when the clock numbers trudged past 1AM and Emma was no closer to getting any real rest despite the Tylenol PM she had snatched from the medicine cabinet, she knew where she had to go.

Of course, that bravado lasted right up until her first trip up the stairs to Killian and Liam’s place.

It was 2AM.  What was she _thinking_?  Killian was still ill, Liam would be, _both_ the brothers would be sleeping, she couldn’t just intrude.  ‘Oh hi, Liam, don’t mind me, I just need to sleep in your brother’s room because I’ve gotten used to falling asleep to the sound of his breathing.’  Sure, that would go over swimmingly.

“Emma?” her name echoed through the night.

Liam’s voice startled her badly and she almost tripped down the last few steps.  She only managed to save herself the indignity of falling by latching onto the railing and holding on for dear life.  Emma turned around with a blush creeping over her cheeks and a glare to divert attention from it.

The look on her face dared Liam to say anything.  It dared him to laugh at her or berate her or question her.

“Come on inside, lass.  It’s late.”  He didn’t wait for her jaw to drop, for her to decide to follow.  Liam just ambled back inside and left the door open.

Emma stared after him for a long few minutes, perplexed and hesitant.  She knew what she wanted, knew what she needed at the moment, but could she reach out and take it?

Liam was waiting for her just inside the door.

“I trust you remember where his room is?  He’s had his meds for the night and he should sleep until at least six.”  He left her at the foot of the stairs, disappearing behind the door to the office without a second glance.

Well, then.

They had come a long way from _you’re going to get my brother killed_ , and Emma was still struggling to catch up.  But that was a journey for another day.  This night, she was already yawning and there were at least a few hours of sleep calling her name at the top of the stairs.

Killian was sprawled across the middle of the bed, propped up on at least four pillows.  The blankets were tangled around his legs and there was another pillow on the floor near the foot of the bed.  His head was tipped back against the headboard and soft snores escaped every once in awhile.

Emma was already starting to feel the drag of sleep.

There were so many reasons to curl up on the chair near Killian’s bed.  So many reasons not to crawl into bed with him and relax for the first time in days.

But there were so many more reasons to _do_ just that.

Emma didn’t let herself ponder the why nots for long enough to talk herself out of shedding her jeans and shifting the blankets out from Killian’s legs.  Instead, she grabbed the fallen pillow and tucked herself into his side, letting her ear rest just over his heart.

The last thing she remembered before falling into the first deep sleep she’d gotten in weeks was the feeling of Killian’s arm coming to wrap around her shoulder and his soft, contented sigh breathed out against the crown of her head.

* * *

There was an arm across his chest and a weight on his shoulder.

Killian woke with a start.  Even before he could figure out what had pulled him from sleep, his brain was already calculating the distance to his weapon that Liam unhelpfully kept moving from under the pillows to the bedside drawer.

And then he smelled Emma’s shampoo, felt the soft fingers curled against his chest, heard her even cadence of breaths that signified a deep sleep.  She was here, safe and in his arms.  

It threw him for a moment - the sounds and smells were of his room, but Killian hadn’t seen Emma since they parted ways at the airport.  Since then, it had been doctor’s appointments and medications that left him foggy, regimented meal times (whether or not he was hungry didn’t seem to matter) and trying not to kill his brother.  In between bouts of nightmares and drug-induced slumber, Killian hadn’t had much time to so much as _think_ about Emma, never mind try to make sure Liam was keeping tabs on her.

And now she was here.  She was here, -and comfortably asleep - if the soft snores were any indication.

A less intelligent man would have questioned it.  A less intelligent man would have woken her up to figure out where she’d come from.

Killian just tucked her head more firmly under his chin and fell back to sleep.

The coughs that wracked his frame woke them both up a few hours later.  Killian pitched forward, his hand coming automatically to his chest as he tangled his fingers with hers.  He was vaguely aware of Emma ducking under his arm to let him rest against her, but he was far more concerned with dragging in oxygen.  Tears blurred his vision as he continued coughing, but he could feel Emma’s hand rubbing up and down his back, her soothing words whispered in his ear.  It took a moment, but eventually he calmed and sagged back into her embrace.

It was barely light enough in the room to see, the dawn’s sun just peeking in through the blinds.  The fog of sleep began to recede, Emma’s arms tightening around him as they settled back against the pillows with his head cushioned on her chest.

Killian listened to the even rhythm of Emma’s heartbeat, closed his eyes in response to fingers carding through his hair.

“Hi,” she whispered tentatively.  She only offered the barest of explanations to her presence, just a simple, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Killian smiled wryly, remembering the soft snores he’d heard when he’d awoken earlier.  Apparently she could sleep just fine with him.  “Far be it from me to complain about a beautiful woman in my bed, love.  I didn’t expect you though.”

She nodded, her chin bouncing lightly off the crown of his head.  “Liam let me in.”

He hummed his approval at that.  It had been a long time since he’d had to sheepishly explain away a lass in his room as a teenager, but somehow he had a feeling that despite the age difference between then and now, it would have been no less mortifying.

It was easier, her thought, with Emma here.  It didn’t take long for Killian to realize that it was the lingering illness that had woken him and not another nightmare.  That it was a physical ailment that had torn him from sleep instead of Liam shaking him awake - sweat-soaked and tangled in the sheets.  She was warm, wrapped around him as she was, and it was comfortable in a way he hadn’t experienced in weeks.

Not since the last time they’d slept together, curled up as best they could around the gunshot wound in his side, in that hotel room.

It was a feeling Killian didn’t want to give up - not because of the brightening sun coming through the window that signified the day’s beginning, and certainly not in the days and weeks and months to come.

But Killian’s ability to hope for happy endings had died five years ago, terrified and alone, in the Somali desert.

With monumental effort, he managed to replace the image of John’s mangled body with the bright smile on the little brother’s face.  Michael was his saving grace at the moment.  The bright spot in everything he’d gone through in Gold’s basement.  It had taken Killian years, the most convoluted path he could have imagined, and a fateful run in with the blonde marvel now tangled up in his sheets, but he had finally kept his promise to John.

“How are Michael and Wendy doing?” he whispered, staring resolutely at how Emma’s legs were entwined with his own.  He hoped his voice didn’t sound half as strangled as he imagined.

Emma’s hand slid down his arm to grip his wrist just over the healing cuts Gold had left and Killian had to rely on all of his training not to pull his hand away.

“They’re doing well.  We found a temporary family for them _both_ to stay with while Wendy works on getting full custody of Michael from the state, so at least they’re together while that happens.  Then there will be a probationary period once they’re on their own, but I think they’ll be just fine.”  Her voice was pitched low, the tenor calming.

Killian smiled, the idea that John’s family would be able to stay together - to learn to _heal_ together - was a powerful image.  He felt something loosen in his chest that he hadn’t even realized had been knotted up for years.  That feeling of failure - of abandoning the boy who’d trusted him and breaking promise after promise to John - had been a part of Killian for five long years and he felt lighter just knowing that he could finally put it all to rest.

He didn’t realize that he was crying softly until Emma’s arms tightened around him, her face - creased with concern - looking down at him.

“Killian?” she whispered hesitantly, just the slightest hint of panic in her tone.  “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, clenching his teeth in a vain attempt to get the tears to stop.  He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, not quite able to get a handle on his emotions.  Killian tried to keep his breathing even, tried to calm the storm that was brewing.

He was stronger than this.  He’d been trained to be stronger than _this_.

“Do you need Liam?  Your meds?”  Emma let go of him, trying to weasel her way out from behind him, the hint of panic growing as she tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

She couldn’t leave; he couldn’t do this without Emma.  He needed her.

Killian turned in her arms, snaking his own around her waist and holding on for dear life.  He buried his face in her neck and squeezed to keep her there, wrapped around him - his only buoyancy against the deluge.

“Stay,” he croaked.  “Please?”  

Killian was surprised at just how small his voice sounded, just how vulnerable he was.

Emma’s arms tightened around him and she nodded with her chin tucked against his head as she helped him ride out the storm.  With her there to keep him afloat, Killian shattered.  The years of grief he’d buried and the fear and worry he’d boxed away during his imprisonment finally overwhelming him.

Killian thought he heard a door open, thought he heard Emma’s voice murmuring to someone - _Liam_ , his brain helpfully supplied - but he couldn’t handle anything more than his own breakdown at the moment, so he just turned more fully into her and knotted his fingers in her shirt.

The feel of Emma’s warm breath across his ear as she shushed him was a balm to the wounds that his memories were tearing open.  He didn’t question it, _couldn’t_ question it, not when he was barely hanging on as it was.  Killian leaned on Emma’s strength and finally let things take their course.

It seemed to be hours later when the tears finally slowed and his breathing evened out from hitched gasps back to the shallow breaths he’d become accustomed to.  Whale would have a fit if he knew Killian wasn’t trying to breathe deeply, but he simply couldn’t manage that pain on top of the embarrassment and emotional upheaval.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his cheeks already growing warm as he realized Emma had borne witness to the entire thing.

Emma breathed out heavily through her nose, hugged him tighter, and kissed the top of his head.  “You don’t have anything to apologize for.  Are you all right?”

_Was_ he all right?  Killian wasn’t entirely sure, and the noncommittal shrug he gave was the only answer he could come up with for her.

But what he _was_ sure of was that Emma was the only one who knew John’s whole story.  The only one who knew Michael, who loved Michael like Killian loved his older brother.

She might be the only person who could understand.

“I know that I can’t really understand what you went through, and I know that it’s probably not my place.  But if you want to talk about what Gold did to you, I’m a pretty good listener.”  Emma’s fingers tightened further in his hair, her cheek squashed into the crown of his head as if she could squeeze the strength back into him.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.  At least, not totally, love.”  Part of Killian wanted to leap up from the bed and start pacing, wasn’t sure if he could have this conversation in the safe cocoon Emma had him wrapped in.  But more of him knew that this was the only way he could open up to her - without having to look her in the eye and see the sympathy he didn’t want.

Emma nodded.  “Like I said, you don’t have to-”

“-Michael is John’s little brother,” he spit out his confession as if it were a dirty secret.  As if she would be angry that he’d kept this from her for so long.  He hurried to rationalize, to make her understand something, anything.  He couldn’t allow her to be angry with him.  “I didn’t know.  Not when we were chasing Gold down and not when I let you go into that coffee shop alone.  I never knew John’s last name; it didn’t matter when he was just an orphan that I wanted to bring home.  It didn’t matter to me, and it didn’t… I didn’t know…”  He was rambling.  He needed to stop.

“Shh,” Emma soothed.  “I know you didn’t know.  It’s all right.”

It took her a moment to process.  Killian knew the moment it hit her.  He could hear the way her heart sped up and could feel her chest freeze mid-expansion, her breath caught in her throat.

“John… was a Darling.  You saved Michael.  You saved his little brother.  Oh, Killian, no wonder…” it was her turn to trail off, burying her face in his hair as her breath stuttered out.

“Gold knew,” Killian continued.  “The bastard must have known all along.  He waited until the most profitable moment to let me know, of course.  It’s why he came into the shop that day.  Why he dragged Michael and Wendy along and dangled them right under my nose.  I’d have… I’d have traded myself for them anyway, they’re innocent in all this.  But he just wanted to twist the knife a little more.  Wanted to make sure I’d be off my game.”

“Oh God,” Emma whispered, scooting down until they were wrapped in each other.  “I don’t know how you did it.  How you _do_ it.  How you survived.  Killian, when we found you, I was so afraid.  I thought that… I didn’t think we’d find _you_.  But you did it.  You beat him.  And you’re here, and you’re going to be okay.”

“I had something Gold could never understand, love.”

He could hear the tears in her voice when she whispered, “What?”

Killian almost laughed.  He’d told her before, but he would tell her every day for the rest of their lives if she’d let him.  “Don’t you know, Emma?  It’s you.”

* * *

Emma smiled as she hung up the phone.  Wendy had just called to tell her that they were finally settled in the apartment Mary Margaret had found for them and contrary to Wendy’s daughter Jane’s angry sobbing in the background, it was a good fit for the little family.  Michael’s placement with his sister was still technically under probation, but Emma was confident it was a formality.  

She closed their file and looked up at the knock on the door.

“Miss Swan?”  One of the interns was waiting patiently for her attention.

Behind the young woman, looking oddly hopeful for being in her office, was a boy around Michael’s age.  He was the new case that had been assigned to her, but the look on his face didn’t match his situation.  “Come on in.”

The boy bounced into the room, clutching his backpack to his chest and grinning at her.  “Hi!  My name’s Henry.”

She placed him with Mary Margaret and David right away.  They would know just what to do with all of his exuberance and his file said that he’d been placed in homes with infants before.  She hoped it would be a perfect match.

It was on her way back to the office from their house when she noticed the text from Killian.

**_Save me, Swan._ **

Emma rolled her eyes.

It had only been a few weeks since his physician and the psychologist had cleared him for desk duty, but with the way Killian was acting about it, she was pretty sure he’d rather be locked in Gold’s basement.  Huffing out a laugh through her smile, Emma detoured from her route and headed for the _Pret A Manger_ in Back Bay.  If she was going to distract him from the endless files Liam was keeping him busy with, she was going to do it on a full stomach.

By the time she got to JR Solutions and found a parking spot in the garage, the aroma from the lunch she had picked up was making her mouth water.  Emma was so distracted that she ran into a man waiting for the elevator.  He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit with an artfully tied ascot, his blond hair coiffed stylishly, and an odd look on his face.  His coffee sloshed over his hand and he cried out.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma practically yelled.  “I was in a hurry and I didn’t see you."

“I'm not angry,” he hissed.  “I'm just... disappointed.”

The man smiled coldly at her before walking back towards the cars, and Emma stared after him.  She had thought he was waiting to go up to one of the offices, _why else would he be waiting at the elevators_ , but put it out of her mind.  Killian’s lunch and hers were getting colder the longer she stood there, transfixed, so she headed up to see him.

He was pouting.  

Killian was honest-to-God pouting at the pile of papers on his desk.

He looked utterly miserable.  His hair was in disarray as if he’d spent hours running his fingers through it, and the suit jacket and tie he was wearing were both askew from what had to be constant fiddling.  Emma tried to keep the smile from her face, but when he looked up with puppy dog eyes at her, she lost it.

“I’m glad you find my predicament so amusing, love.  Liam is trying to pay me back for worrying him, I’m sure of it.  The wanker has been across town in meetings.  All _week_.”  There was a distinct whine to Killian’s tone, and it made Emma laugh harder.

“Who’s torturing who, buddy?  If you’ve been this whiny all week, no wonder he’s taken off.”  Emma smirked when his pout turned into a look of total affront.

“I’ll have you know, Swan, that I am perfectly capable of going back into the field.  Just because Whale and Liam are…”

“Killian.”  Emma’s humor turned into exasperation.  They’d had this argument almost every day since he’d been released from the hospital.  She’d hoped it would get better once he was allowed back to the office, but it seemed she wasn’t that lucky.  “Your scans only _just_ came back clear.  By rights, they could still be making you stay at home.”

“I know,” he acknowledged.  “But I’m ready.”

Emma sighed.  “We can keep arguing about this, but I won’t give you your treat if you do.”  She held up the bag and shook it.

Killian’s eyes lit up and his mouth clamped shut.

For a moment.

“What did you bring me?”  Emma swore he was drooling a little bit.

“Mac and cheese.  But if you don’t want it…” she trailed off.

“With spinach and tomato?  My love, you’re the best person I know.”  He dug out utensils and grinned as Emma placed the food in front of him.  She dug her own sandwich out of the bag and munched as Killian swooned over his meal.

“You know, I think you like that more than you like me.”  Emma grinned, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Killian groaned, but didn’t dispute the fact as he shoveled more of the pasta into his mouth with a cheeky grin.  She rolled her eyes in response.

“Did Whale at least give you a timeline when you saw him yesterday?”  As much as the thought of him going back into the field made her nervous, she couldn’t take much more of him being stuck at a desk either.

“‘ _Ask me again in a week_ ’, he said.  Like that isn’t exactly what he’s been saying for weeks now.”  Killian started to pout again.

Emma just shook her head.  He’d be back in the field soon enough, and until then, she’d take these little stolen moments.

When Killian spoke up again, their food was gone and the couch in his office was much more conducive to making him feel better.  “At least the time off did us one favor. I’m devilishly handsome again.”

Emma rolled her eyes, punching him in the shoulder, hard.

He adopted a hurt look, rubbing at his shoulder.  His voice was a low grumble, and it made her smile.  “You know, love, I quite fancy you from time to time.  When you aren’t punching me.”

She soothed her hand over where she’d punched him before leaning in to kiss him soundly.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. We're done. Eleven months after starting to write this monster with half an idea and a plan to write maybe 5 chapters, it's finally finished. At over 90,000 words and surpassing even my wildest thoughts about how this was going to go.
> 
> I'll ask one last time, please please please leave me a comment letting me know what you thought about it. Please?
> 
> And for those of you who have been commenting all along the way, I can't tell you how much each and every one meant. Thank you all for giving this monster a chance.


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